Lisle laughed—it was so characteristic of Bella.
“Here’s something else,” Crestwick proceeded; “about Miss Gladwyne. Bella thinks you’d be interested to hear that there’s a prospect of—”
“Go on!” cried Lisle, dropping his pipe.
“I can’t see,” said Crestwick. “You might stir the fire.”
Lisle threw on some fresh wood and poked the fire savagely with a branch, and the lad continued, reading with difficulty while the pungent smoke obscured the light.
“It seems that she saw Gladwyne and his mother and Millicent together in town, and she afterward spent a week with Flo Marple at somebody’s house. Flo told her that it looks as if the long-deferred arrangement was to be brought about at last.” He laid down the letter. “If that means she’s to marry Gladwyne, it ought to be prevented!”
They looked at each other curiously, and Lisle, struggling to command himself, noticed the lad’s strained expression.
“Why?” he asked with significant shortness.
Crestwick seemed on the verge of some vehement outbreak and Lisle saw that it was with an effort he refrained.
“Oh, well,” he answered, “the man’s not half good enough. He’s a dangerous rotter.”