Then occurred the interruption. A strangled snort, as of a sleeper awakening, came from behind some palms, followed by the creaking of a chair. With a stifled curse Perrison fell back and the girl’s hand dropped to her side as the branches parted and Archie Longworth, rubbing his eyes, stepped into the light.
“Lord save us, Miss Daventry, I’ve been asleep,” he said, stifling a yawn. “I knew I oughtn’t to have had a third glass of port. Deuced bad for the liver, but very pleasant for all that, isn’t it, Mr.—Mr. Perrison?”
He smiled engagingly at the scowling Perrison, and adjusted his eyeglass.
“You sleep very silently, Mr. Longworth,” snarled that worthy.
“Yes—used to win prizes for it at an infant school. Most valuable asset in class. If one snores it disconcerts the lecturer.”
Perrison swung round on his heel. “I would like an answer to my suggestion by to-morrow, Miss Daventry,” he said, softly. “Perhaps I might have the pleasure of a walk where people don’t sleep off the effects of dinner.”
With a slight bow he left the conservatory, and the girl sat down weakly.
“Pleasant type of bird, isn’t he?” drawled Longworth, watching Perrison’s retreating back.
“He’s a brute—an utter brute,” whispered the girl, shakily.
“I thought the interview would leave you with that impression,” agreed the man.