"God knows I shall be delighted to escape them!" His eyes brightened and he clapped his hands together. "I owe her a pair of gloves on an old wager. I have them in the village and will bring them over to-night," he said; but deception was not an easy game for him. I grinned and he colored.
"It's not money, Donovan," he said, as hurt as a misjudged child. "I won't lie to you. I was to meet her at St. Agatha's pier to-night to give her the gloves."
"You shall have your opportunity, but those meetings on piers won't do. I will hand her over to you at the casino at nine o'clock. I suppose I may have a dance or two?"
"I suppose so," he said, so grudgingly that I laughed aloud.
"Remember the compact; try to have a good time and don't talk of trouble," I enjoined, as we parted.
CHAPTER XXI
A BLUE CLOAK AND A SCARLET
When first we met we did not guess
That Love would prove so hard a master;
Of more than common friendliness
When first we met we did not guess—
Who could foretell this sore distress—
This irretrievable disaster
When first we met? We did not guess
That Love would prove so hard a master.
—Robert Bridges.
Miss Pat asked me to dine at St. Agatha's that night. The message came unexpectedly—a line on one of those quaint visiting-cards of hers, brought by the gardener; and when I had penned my acceptance I at once sent the following message by Ijima to the boat-maker's house at Red Gate: