"Ah! . . ." with a hand toward her.
"Do not say it. I understand the thought. If only you loved me, you would say!" the iron in her voice unmistakable.
He let his hand fall. He was sorry.
Presently the others made their entrance upon the scene, a singular anticlimax. The admiral rang for the cocktails. Introductions followed.
"Is it not strange?" said the singer to Laura. "I stole in here to look at the trophies, when I discovered Mr. Breitmann whom I once knew in Munich."
"Mr. Cathewe," said the young hostess, "this is Mr. Breitmann, who is aiding father in the compilation of his book."
"Mr. Breitmann and I have met before," said Cathewe soberly.
The two men bowed. Cathewe never gave his hand to any but his intimates. But Laura, who was not aware of this ancient reserve, thought that both of them showed a lack of warmth. And Fitzgerald, who was watching all comers now, was sure that the past of his friend and Breitmann interlaced in some way.
"So, young man," said Mrs. Coldfield, a handsome motherly woman, "you have had the impudence to let five years pass without darkening my doors. What excuse have you?"
"I'm guilty of anything you say," Fitzgerald answered humbly. "What shall be my punishment?"