With a shrug Lanyard put away his pistol. He had been wretchedly premature, he perceived, when, having bluffed Morphew into giving him that weapon, he had congratulated himself on the turn it signalized in the tide of his luck.
"Dropping in on your dear betrothed," he replied, moving nearer, "just by way of giving him a glad surprise."
She had no patience for such ill-timed levity. "What do you mean? What did you want with Morphew?"
"If you must know, I meant to invite him to take a walk with me."
"At the pistol's point!"
"Precisely."
"Well!"—a note of scorn sounded in her voice, or Lanyard was deceived—"why didn't you? Wouldn't he go?"
"I regret to report that the gentleman is not at home."
"Not—!" Acute dismay drove the woman back to the rail round the well. A hand flew to her lips as if to muffle them. "Morphew isn't in his room?"
"Neither is Pagan; I'm afraid they are up to some sort of naughtiness."