"You mean that his talk was suggestive?" asked Gladys.
"No—not in that way—yet it was suggestive of what he could do if he had the opportunity." She laughed a little consciously. "You see, last evening on the side piazza—when Montague and I were alone—he did something a trifle beyond the conventional. Just as he did it, some one turned on the light in the billiard room directly behind—and Porshinger saw us."
"Where was he?"
"I don't know."
"How do you know he saw you?"
"He told me."
"What! baldly told you?" Gladys exclaimed.
"Not that he had seen—it, but that he had seen us. He told the balance with his look and his smile—and what he didn't say."
"What ailed Montague that he got unconventional—or rather what ailed you that you let him?"
"The evening, I reckon, did for us both—and the miserable lights did the rest. I'm inclined to hold you responsible, my dear, for our being seen."