“Bosh? What matter? Jocelyn doesn't mind.”
“No, but I do.”
It was obvious that he wanted to accept the invitation, although the objection he raised was probably honest. For that taint in the blood that cometh from the subtle tar-brush brings with it a vanity that has its equal in no white man's heart.
“Well, I'll lend you a black coat! Seven o'clock sharp!”
Durnovo hurried away with a gleam of excitement in his dark eyes.
Maurice Gordon did not resume his work at once. He sat for some time idly drumming with his fingers on the desk.
“If I can only get her to be civil to him,” he reflected aloud, “I'll get into this business yet.”
At seven o'clock Durnovo appeared at the Gordons' house. He had managed to borrow a dress-suit, and wore an orchid in his buttonhole. It was probably the first time that Jocelyn had seen him in this garb of civilisation, which is at the same time the most becoming and the most trying variety of costume left to sensible men in these days. A dress-suit finds a man out sooner than anything except speech.
Jocelyn was civil in her reception—more so, indeed, than Maurice Gordon had hoped for. She seemed almost glad to see Durnovo, and evinced quite a kindly interest in his movements. Durnovo attributed this to the dress-suit, while Maurice concluded that his obvious hints, thrown out before dinner, had fallen on fruitful ground.
At dinner Victor Durnovo was quite charmed with the interest that Jocelyn took in the expedition, of which, he gave it to be understood, he was the chief. So also was Maurice, because Durnovo's evident admiration of Jocelyn somewhat overcame his natural secrecy of character.