Her tone rang true enough, and Lanyard could detect nothing to contradict it in the soft silhouette of her profile against the light.
"It makes me very happy, to think at least one person in the world has faith in me, after all the villainy that's been charged to my account."
"That isn't fair," Folly retorted with spirit: "You never give your friends credit—Morphy doesn't believe it, and neither does Peter."
"To be sure . . . Yes: naturally those two must have talked to you about me."
"You don't suppose they'd have lured you out here to dinner without first getting my permission, do you? If they hadn't, I'd hardly have been so fussed about your being late."
"But that wasn't my fault. I didn't know where I was coming—I could only comfort myself with the reminder that I was in the hands of—as you point out—my friends."
"It doesn't matter. We arranged to make it a late dinner anyway; and furthermore you're not the one who's kept it waiting. Morphy and Peter didn't show up till about ten minutes ago. They had a breakdown or something on the way."
"I was wondering . . ."
"They're upstairs in their rooms now, dressing."
"I hope they don't hurry," Lanyard confessed. "I can spare them a little longer, need time to get my bearings."