“Of course, it can be no other,” cried Hilda, in unwonted excitement.
Colin was on his feet. “Mr. Risk, will you excuse—” he was beginning when Sharp entered.
“Mr. Symington,” the servant intimated, “wishes to speak with Miss Carstairs on the ’phone.”
There were blank looks until Hilda, with recovered coolness, said—
“Sharp, will you tell Mr. Symington that Miss Carstairs is afraid of contamination, even over the wire.”
“Very good, Hilda,” her brother remarked. “Have you got it clearly, Sharp?”
“Yes, sir,” the servant answered, and calmly repeated the words. Then he went out.
Risk turned to Colin, who was still standing and gave a nod, murmuring: “All right, Hayward, we’ll excuse you. Good luck!”
Colin bowed to the ladies, and with a curious set look on his face left the room.
Hilda glanced at her brother, but said nothing. Kitty was feeling a little hurt, and, perhaps, a little relieved also. Why should Colin have wanted to escape hearing her story? On the other hand, it would, perhaps, be less trying to hear it told without his presence.