"Nonsense!" she snapped at him. "Just look to the sail and do what's necessary to put us ashore again as quick as may be. I've got but a short patience with folk who don't know the butter side of a slice of bread."
So the boat was turned and went gaily dancing over the summer sea, under the red cliffs, and round the headland, to the beach. After the discussion on the outward run it was but natural that words should be few, and Leslie was glad of it for more reasons than one. They had the wind against them now, and the sailing of the boat claimed all his attention. A succession of short tacks was necessary before he landed his precious freight.
The motor car was waiting for the ladies, and when he had bestowed them in it, and given a promise to come out to the Manor House later in the day, Leslie turned in the opposite direction to go to his rooms for lunch. As he neared the end of the parade, he saw Travers Nugent watching him from one of the windows of the club, and he averted his gaze so as not to catch the eye of his enemy. But the elementary tactics were of no avail. Nugent came out of the front door before he could pass.
"Come inside; there is need for a consultation," said the Maharajah's agent.
Leslie angrily shook off the detaining hand which had been laid upon his arm. "I don't wish to have anything to do with you. I'll be hanged if I come in," he said.
Nugent laughed—the little musical laugh that women loved and men loathed. "My dear fellow, you have used an apt term in the reverse sense," he cooed. "You will certainly be hanged if you don't come in and listen to what I have to say."
For the second time that morning Leslie Chermside paled beneath his Eastern tan, and he meekly followed Nugent into the club.