“The morning-room?” Loder suddenly stepped back from the table. “The morning-room? With your telegram lying on the bureau?”
His sudden speech and movement startled Chilcote. The blood rushed to his face, then died out, leaving it ashen. “Don't do that, Loder!” he cried. “I—I can't bear it!”
With an immense effort Loder controlled himself. “Sorry!” he said. “Go on!”
“I'm going on! I tell you I'm going on. I got a horrid shock when Chapham told me. Your story came clattering through my mind. I knew Lillian had come to see you—I knew there was going to be a scene—”
“But the telegram? The telegram?”
Chilcote paid no heed to the interruption. He was following his own train of ideas. “I knew she had come to see you—I knew there was going to be a scene. When I got to the morning-room my hand was shaking so that I could scarcely turn the handle; then, as the door opened, I could have cried out with relief. Eve was there as well!”
“Eve?”
“Yes. I don't think I was ever so glad to see her in my life.” He laughed almost hysterically. “I was quite civil to her, and she was—quite sweet to me—” Again he laughed.
Loder's lips tightened.
“You see, it saved the situation. Even if Lillian wanted to be nasty, she couldn't, while Eve was there. We talked for about ten minutes. We were quite an amiable trio. Then Lillian told me why she'd called. She wanted me to make a fourth in a theatre party at the 'Arcadian' to-night, and I—I was so pleased and so relieved that I said yes!” He paused and laughed again unsteadily.