“He knows the men won’t hurt him,” said Croyden, “whereas the women, if he showed his ill nature to them, would promptly ostracize him. He is a canny bounder, all right.” He made a gesture of repugnance. “We have had enough of Mattison—let us find something more interesting—yourself, for instance.”
“Or yourself!” she smiled. “Or, better still, neither. Which reminds me—Miss Southard is coming to-morrow; you will be over, of course?” 33
“I’m going East to-morrow night,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“But she is to stay two weeks—you will be back before she leaves, won’t you?”
“I fear not—I may go on to London.”
“Before you return here?”
“Yes—before I return here.”
“Isn’t this London idea rather sudden?” she asked.
“I’ve been anticipating it for some time,” sending a cloud of cigarette smoke before his face. “But it grew imminent only to-day.”
When the smoke faded, her eyes were looking questioningly into his. There was something in his words that did not ring quite true. It was too sudden to be genuine, too unexpected. It struck her as vague and insincere. Yet there was no occasion to mistrust—it was common enough for men to be called suddenly to England on business.——