“If you mean that I have been listening, a second time,” she said with frigid haughtiness, “you are mistaken. I only heard the last few words you and this gentleman were saying, and that I could not help.”
The gentleman in question came forward; he smiled slightly as he caught sight of Ella, but there was a half quizzical look on his face which did not tend to smooth her ruffled plumage.
“I am afraid—I hope we have not been trespassing?” he began, looking rather puzzled. “We should not have come so early, perhaps, Cheynes?”
“Oh no,” said Ella sweetly, with a complete change of tone, as she turned to the stranger, “of course it was quite right for—but—are you Mr West?” she exclaimed suddenly, as the idea struck her.
The tall, dark man before her bowed formally.
“I have not the honour of being Mr West,” he said. “I am only—”
“You have met before,” Philip interrupted. “Ella, don’t you remember Captain Omar—Bernard Omar?”
Ella in her turn looked perplexed.
“I remember the name—I have often heard it,” she said: “But I don’t remember ever seeing you, the bearer of it, before.”
She pointedly addressed the stranger, and she seemed to take a perverse pleasure in looking her sweetest and speaking in her softest tones. Sir Philip bit his lip and turned away.