Kresney's pronounced frigidity was more ludicrous than impressive; and the shadow of a smile lurked beneath Paul's moustache as he addressed himself to Honor.
"Wouldn't it be well to send for Conolly?" he asked. But Evelyn interposed.
"No,—no,—I don't want Dr Conolly. I'm all right now."
She raised herself on her elbow in proof of her statement.
"Mr Kresney was very kind to me. I have asked him to dinner. Won't you stay too?"
"Thanks. I'll go and change, and come back later. You will do the same, I presume?" And he looked directly at Kresney, who had wit enough to perceive that the situation was untenable.
"It's very good of you to want me, Mrs Desmond," he said, elaborately ignoring Wyndham's remark, "but I'd better not stop to-night. You won't be fit for much talking after that nasty tumble."
"Perhaps not. You must come some other night instead. I won't forget."
She held out her hand with marked graciousness, flashing a defiant glance at Paul, who, in sublime unconsciousness, followed Kresney out into the verandah, and remained standing on the steps till he had ridden out of sight.