"Your solicitude for my welfare is overwhelming," sneered Strongley.
"Good heavens!" laughed John Morrison. "I didn't care a damn about you. I was afraid the men might get into trouble. Steady! Don't get gay with me. I'm not half-witted; and I can hit back...."
III
It was in London the following spring that Marjorie Frenton next saw John Morrison. She had not been present at the interview with her father—was in ignorance that it had ever taken place until the next day. And on that next day John Morrison had disappeared, leaving no trace.... For a while she had waited, wondering whether he would write—but no word came. After all, why should he? There was nothing to write about.... It was merely curiosity on her part—nothing more, of course.... A workman in evening clothes.... Enough to make anybody curious....
And now there he was—three tables away, dining with a very pretty woman. He hadn't seen her yet.... Probably wouldn't remember her when he did ... After all, why should he? ... And at that moment their eyes met....
She looked away at once, and started talking to the man next to her: but even as she spoke she knew John Morrison had risen and was coming towards her.
"How are you, Miss Frenton?" She looked up into his face: met the glint of a smile in the lazy blue eyes.
"Quite well, thank you, Mr. Morrison," she answered, coldly.
"Hullo, Joe!" A woman opposite had begun to speak, to stop with a puzzled frown at Marjorie's words. "Morrison! Why Morrison? ... Have you been masquerading, Joe, under an assumed name?"
"I did for a while, Jane," he said, calmly, "to avoid you; you know how you pursued me with eligible girls.... Battalions of 'em, Miss Frenton—ranged in rows. I had to disappear stealthily in the dead of night...."