Patricia was astonished.
“You know more about him than I do,” she said.
“I make it my business to pry into my neighbour’s affairs,” he answered solemnly. “It mayn’t be courteous, but it’s cautious.”
“Perhaps you know all about me?” she was tempted to challenge him.
He turned on her a clear blue eye which held a mocking gleam.
“Only the unimportant things. That you were educated at Mayfield. That Miss Girton isn’t your aunt, but a very distant cousin. That you’ve led a very quiet life, and travelled very little. You’re dependent on Miss Girton, because she has the administration of your property until you’re twenty-five. That is for another five years.”
“Are you aware,” she demanded dangerously, “that you’re most impertinent?”
He nodded.
“Quite unpardonably,” he admitted. “I can only plead in excuse that when there’s a price on one’s head one can’t be too particular about one’s acquaintances.”
And he looked meditatively at the yellow-golden contents of his glass, which he had held untasted since it was given him.