“I had to come,” he blurted out.
“I know. Used to late hours ever since you left school. Sometimes feel you can’t go quietly to bed. Here I am,” said Andy, carelessly indicating the two candles and the writing-table.
Stamford let a small china dog fall with a crash, picked up the bits, apologised, and walked to the bookshelf and back again.
“Look here. I don’t know how to begin.”
“Well, sit down to it, man,” said Andy, dragging the big arm-chair forward. “Have a pipe? Can’t offer you a cigar.”
Stamford disregarded the invitation, and backed up against the fireplace.
“I’m engaged to Elizabeth Atterton.”
Andy’s glance flashed out, keen as a rapier.
“Is that a joke?”
“No.”