"I thought that would be the message," said a cheerful voice beyond the hedge, "so I didn't wait for it." A moment later a tall figure of a man emerged and took off his hat with an awkward bow.
"Good morning, Miss Wynrod." His bronzed, angular face, with its deep-set eyes and wide mouth, softened in a smile which was undeniably pleasing.
Judith surveyed his shabby figure, compounded of all manner of curious depressions and protuberances, and half smiled herself. His cheerfulness was infectious. Also, his appearance was almost comic, which was paradoxical in a representative of so savage an organ as The Workman's World. Then she recalled the circumstances of his intrusion, and when she spoke her voice was chill.
"I believe you heard my message."
"Clearly. But if you had known that I had come all the way out from the city on a very hot morning, merely to do you a favour, I don't think you would have given it." He surveyed her reproachfully. Then his lips parted again in a smile. "Won't you give me five minutes, Miss Wynrod—please."
Judith was no exception to the rule that curiosity is a dominant motive in human conduct. Besides, she had already succumbed to the curious stranger's magnetic geniality.
She hesitated. "Well ..." He took it to be acquiescence.
"Thanks very much. Now could I have this five minutes with you—alone?"
Roger frowned at the request, and winked at his sister.
"This is my brother. Anything that concerns me will concern him."