The door opened as he said the word in his high, expressive voice, and to Clodagh's indescribable relief, Nance entered.
In the second that she stepped across the threshold her bright eyes passed from one face to the other, and a rapid process of deduction took place in her mind.
"Walter," she said pleasantly, "Pierce says there's one question he forgot to ask you about Japan. Do you mind if I ask it now?" She walked to the open window.
Gore followed her; and Clodagh drew a breath of deep relief.
Ten minutes passed—ten interminable minutes, in which she strove to attend to Deerehurst's words, while her ears were strained to follow the conversation in the window. Then at last relief came. He rose to go.
"I must say good-bye!" he said, taking her hand. "I shall await your verdict on the verses. There is one I want you specially to read—the last one. Good-bye!"
She smiled, scarcely hearing what he said; and a moment later he had bowed to the two in the window, and passed out of the room.
As the outer door closed, Nance came across to her sister.
"Do you mind if I run down to Sloane Street, Clo?" she asked. "I never remembered those lozenges for Aunt Fan, and I can just catch the Irish mail."
Without waiting for an answer, she stooped and kissed Clodagh's forehead; and, turning, passed out of the room.