“Well, you asked him here, anyway,” grunted the boy. Then with a sudden change of tone he turned to her appealingly. “Syb, old girl—for the Lord’s sake play the game. You know what the governor is, and if he hears about this show—especially as it’s—as it’s not the first time—there’ll be the deuce to pay. You know he said last time that if it happened again he’d turn me out of the house. And the old man is as stubborn as a mule. I only want you to be a bit decent to Perrison.”
She looked at him with a grave smile. “If Mr. Perrison is satisfied with my being decent to him, as you put it, I’m perfectly prepared to play the game. But——” She frowned and rose abruptly. “Come on, and I’ll have a look at him.”
In silence they went downstairs. Tea had just been brought in, and the house-party was slowly drifting into the hall. But Sybil barely noticed them; her eyes were fixed on the man talking to her father. Or rather, at the moment, her father was talking to the man, and his remark was painfully audible.
“There is a very good train back to London at seven-thirty, Mr.—ah—Mr.——”
Her brother stepped forward. “But I say, Dad,” he said, nervously, “I asked Perrison to stop the night. I’ve just asked Sybil, and she says she can fix him up somewhere.”
“How do you do, Mr. Perrison?” With a charming smile she held out her hand. “Of course you must stop the night.”
Then she moved away to the tea-table, feeling agreeably relieved; it was better than she had expected. The man was well-dressed; perhaps, to her critical eye, a little too well-dressed—but still quite presentable.
“You averted a catastrophe, Miss Daventry.” A lazy voice beside her interrupted her thoughts, and with a smile she turned to the speaker.
“Dad is most pestilentially rude at times, isn’t he? And Bill told me he left you staring at the poor man as if he was an insect.”
Archie Longworth laughed.