“But”—he glanced a second time toward Inga with a raising of his eyebrows—“do you wish any one to be a third to our conversation? It is, of course——”
“Inga, wait! I wish you to stay,” said Dangerfield, as he heard in the shadows the slight rustle of her dress. “There is nothing to show that he has anything of importance.”
“It is from your wife,” said Drinkwater, with a smile, and his glance went down to his fingers, which were pressed on the black, glossy surface of the table as though in the act of striking some resounding chord.
“Perhaps I had better—I can wait just outside,” she said hurriedly.
“No—no—if what he says is true,” said Dangerfield peremptorily, “all the more reason. I want you to hear what passes between this man and myself.”
“Very well.” She left the door and, seeing the excitement which had begun to work in him at the lawyer’s announcement, came to his side to control him.
Drinkwater’s glance rose from the table and rested on them with a certain malicious enjoyment.
“First, I have a surprise, an agreeable surprise, for you,” he said, with a flicker of a smile, and his manner of accenting his phrase made them feel that he had referred to them both. “Mr. Dangerfield, you are a free man; your divorce was granted this afternoon.”
Of the two, Inga showed the more emotion. She started and drew away from Dangerfield as though suddenly conscious of the intimacy of their attitude, while her companion received the announcement with a shrug.