“Are you ill?” he ejaculated dismayed, and with a swift half-movement towards the cupboard where the brandy decanter was situated.
John’s face relaxed on the instant.
“Not in the least, thank you.”
“Then what on earth were you making such faces about?” demanded Corin.
“I was not aware that I was making faces,” said John with some dignity. “I was merely thinking.”
“Thinking!” Corin’s light arched eyebrows rose nearly to his fair hair. “Then, man, for Heaven’s sake don’t do it again. It’s—it’s really dangerous.”
John heaved himself out of his chair, bitterly conscious of the futility of his efforts.
“Going?” said Corin. And then solicitously, “Sure you’re really all right?”
“Quite, thanks,” returned John with faint asperity.
Corin strolled with him to the door. John was half-way down the stairs when he heard a voice call after him: