Westenhanger’s eye travelled incuriously over the group of Diana’s nymphs and passed on to the stag at the other side of the tapestry; but it was evidently merely a mechanical movement. His thoughts absorbed the whole of his attention. Before he made any reply to Douglas the door opened and Helga Dangerfield came into the room. She nodded to them as she passed, and went into the library.
“Where’s Wraxall to-day?” asked Westenhanger, merely to avoid leaving an impression on the girl that they had stopped talking on her account.
“Digging up megatheriums or flint arrows somewhere in the neighbourhood,” said Douglas, taking the hint. “Or else he’s chaffering for the oldest nutmeg-grater in Frogsholme. He seems really keen on that sort of stuff.”
Helga Dangerfield came through the library door with a book in her hand.
“You like this room?” she asked, pausing for a moment as she passed. “So do I. It used to be my playroom when I was getting beyond the crawling stage.”
“Nice floor for building castles on,” Westenhanger suggested, with a glance across the smooth marble pavement. “You must have had rather a jolly time. Plenty of room.”
“Sometimes I wish I had it all over again.” She smiled at her own idea, than added: “I must hurry off; Nina and Cynthia are waiting for me.”
As soon as she had left the room Douglas returned to the point at which the conversation had been interrupted.
“Can’t you think of anything, Conway? I admit I’m not the star performer in the thinking orchestra. It’s up to you to play a solo while I do the grunts of approval down in the bass.”
Westenhanger shook his head.