“I don’t understand.” She looked at him with a puzzled frown.
“You will in good time.” It seemed to her his voice was just a little weary. “Just now it is better that you shouldn’t. Do you trust me enough to do that, Sybil?”
“I trust you absolutely,” and she saw him wince.
“Then keep him here till I come back.”
“Are you going away, Archie?” Impulsively she laid her hand on his arm.
“To-morrow, first thing. I shall come back as soon as possible.”
For a moment or two they stood in silence, then, with a gesture strangely foreign to one so typically British, he raised her hand to his lips. And the next instant she was alone.
A little later she saw him talking earnestly to her brother in a corner; then someone suggested billiard-fives. An admirable game, but not one in which it is wise to place one’s hand on the edge of the table with the fingers over the cushion. Especially if the owner of the hand is not paying attention to the game. It was Perrison’s hand, and the agony of being hit on the fingers by a full-sized billiard ball travelling fast must be experienced to be believed. Of course it was an accident: Longworth was most apologetic. But in the middle of the hideous scene that followed she caught his lazy blue eye and beat a hasty retreat to the hall. Unrestrained mirth in such circumstances is not regarded as the essence of tact.
III
It was about ten o’clock on the morning of the next day but one that a sharp-looking, flashily-dressed individual presented himself at the door of Messrs. Gross and Sons. He was of the type that may be seen by the score any day of the week propping up the West-end bars and discoursing on racing form in a hoarse whisper.