“Don't go,” he repeated. “What's the hurry? Wait a minute and I'll join you.”
He removed his overcoat and silk hat and tossed them carelessly upon the hall table. The hat fell to the floor, but he did not heed it. Then he entered the library.
“What!” he exclaimed. “Alone? Burning the midnight oil and all that sort of thing. Where is old—er—where's your father?”
Gertrude replied that her father had retired. She was about to do so, she added. It was untrue, but she was not in the mood for a conversation with anyone, least of all with Cousin Percy.
Cousin Percy, however, appeared decidedly conversational. His face was a trifle flushed and he smiled more than seemed necessary.
“Well,” he observed, “this is an unexpected pleasure. Didn't expect to find anyone up at this hour.”
Gertrude curtly remarked that it was not late.
“I didn't mean up, I meant in. Did I say 'up'? Most extraordinary. I thought you and Mrs. Dott were playing the political game this evening. Expected to find you out and old—the respected captain, I mean—in the arms of—what's his name?—Morpheus. That's all right, though; that's all right. So much the better. We can talk—you and I.”
“I don't feel like talking. You must excuse me.”
“What? Don't feel like talking? Cruel! Why not? It isn't late; you said so yourself.”