Blessington made a comical grimace. “But I'm working this on commercial principles,” he said. “I keep the list, names and hours complete, and Lady Astrupp gazes, in blissful ignorance as to who her victims are. The whole thing is great—simple and statistical.”
“For goodness' sake, Bobby, shut up!” Bramfell's round eyes were twinkling with amusement.
“But my system—”
“Systems! Ah, we all had them when we were as young as you are!”
“And they all had flaws, Bobby,” Eve broke in. “We were always finding gaps that had to be filled up. Never mind about Lord Witcheston. Get a substitute; it won't count—if Lillian doesn't know.”
Blessington wavered as she spoke. His eyes wandered round the party and again rested on Bramfell.
“Not me, Bobby! Remember, I've breathed crystals—practically lived on them—for the last week. Now, there's Chilcote—” Again his eyes twinkled.
All eyes were turned on Loder, though one or two strayed surreptitiously to Eve. She, seeming sensitive to the position, laughed quickly.
“A very good idea!” she said. “Who wants to see the future, if not a politician?”
Loder glanced from her to Blessington. Then, with a very feminine impulse, she settled the matter beyond dispute.