"Yes, I am in great trouble—desperate trouble. I am sure you are kind. There is a thing you can do."
"Tell me," he urged. They were now nearly by the door and the two men were coming up.
"I have a friend. I told him that if I would agree to his plan I would send a message to him to-night. I did not mean to agree, but now—I'm not brave enough to go on. He is to be at half-past nine at a little hotel—'The Feathered Duck'—on the sea-front. Any one will tell you where it is. His name is Dunbar. He is young, short, you can't mistake him. He will be waiting there. Go to him. Tell him I agree. I'll never forget . . ."
Crispin's forehead confronted them. "What do you say to this? Here is a sheltered corner."
Dunbar? Dunbar? Where had he heard the name before?
They all sat down.
[PART II: THE DANCE ROUND THE
TOWN]
I
Quarter of an hour later he left them, making his excuses, promising to return at half-past ten. He could not have stayed another moment, sitting there quietly in his wicker armchair looking out on the darkening garden, listening to Crispin's pleasure in Peter Breughel, without giving some kind of vent to his excitement.
He must get away and be by himself. Because—yes, he knew it, and nothing could alter the vehement pulsating truth of it—he was in love for the first time in his life.