"It is absurd," he answered her suddenly, "but to save my life I can't decide whether you are tall or short."
The front door came open with a bang; the noise brought him sharply to himself; and the next moment a pleasant impatient masculine voice called out:
"I say, Miss Carstairs! Er—everything all right?"
"Oh!—yes, Mr. Richards!" she called penitently. "I'm coming this minute. No, please don't go out with me, Mr. Varney. Don't let anybody see that you are here."
"Certainly not," said he, struggling for a poise which he could not quite recapture. "Then will you be good enough to convey my gratitude to Mr. Higginson and say that I hope to have the opportunity of thanking him personally to-morrow?"
"Yes, of course. Good-night once more—and good luck!"
But he detained her long enough to put the plain business question which had been torturing his soul for the last twenty-four hours.
"We shall see you at luncheon to-morrow?"
He strove to give his remark the air of a mere commonplace of farewell; but at it, he saw her look break away from his and the warm color stream into her face.
"Why—I—I'll come with pleasure. We don't get the chance to lunch on yachts every day in Hunston. Oh, but please," she exclaimed, her embarrassment suddenly melting in a very natural and charming smile—"never let my mother dream that we've not been introduced!"