"Hang it!" said Hugh, as he closed the door. "I've nearly broken my toe on him."
He limped to the bed, where he sat rubbing his foot. Just once he stole a glance at the Colt, who was standing rigidly by the mantelpiece; then he resumed the rubbing. And on his face there was a faint, tender smile.
Then the massage ceased as a pair of soft arms came round his neck from behind.
"Boy! oh, boy!" and her mouth was very close to his ear. "You don't think—oh! tell me you don't think—that I——"
He put his hand over her mouth.
"It's no question of thinking, my Colt, I know——" For a while he stared at the face so close to his own; then very gently he kissed her on the lips. "I know—I was at the Milan myself to-night, Colt—behind a pillar. I told 'em to play Our Tune."
He stood up and smiled at her.
"We'll manage the show better now. I've been worried; I've been a fool. I won't be any more. And now it's time you went to bed." He turned away abruptly. "I'll be getting off to my own room."
But she was at the door before him, arms outstretched, barring the way.
"Just wait a moment," she cried, a little breathlessly, "I want to telephone before—before you go——"