"That you, Dick?" he called out. "Come along in."
Richardson obeyed; and Lenox removed three or four books from an adjacent chair.
"Sit down, old chap. You've not been in here often enough lately.
Chained to my wife's easel, eh?"
"Partly . . . yes," the other answered, absently fingering some loose sheets of manuscript and ignoring the proffered chair.
"Wasn't sure, either, if you cared about being interrupted. I came in now to say I thought of dining at mess to-night, and clearing out into my own bungalow to-morrow. You've been uncommonly good to me, you and Mrs Lenox. But I think I've been quartered on you long enough; and I shall probably get back to duty next week."
He spoke rather rapidly, as if to ward off interruption or dissent; and
Lenox started at finding the initiative thus taken out of his hands.
It was not Quita's doing. He felt sure of that. But Dick's manner
puzzled him, and mere friendliness made acquiescence impossible.
"Well, you seem in a deuce of a hurry to be quit of us," he said, with a short laugh. "Might as well stop till you do get back to duty; and you might as well sit down and have a smoke, now you're here, instead of standing there like a confounded subordinate, making havoc of my papers!"
At that Richardson sat down rather abruptly, and helped himself from his friend's cigar-case. He had small talent and less taste for subterfuge; and, his pulses being in an awkward state of commotion, he took his time over the beheading and lighting of his cigar. In fact he took so long that Lenox spoke again.
"What do you suppose my wife will say to your bolting in this way, at a moment's notice! Have you spoken to her yet?"
"No. I was afraid of seeming . . . ungracious; and one could speak straighter to you."