“I wasn’t,” said Jimmy. “I was putting them back.”
“Putting them back?”
“Pitt, old man,” said his lordship solemnly, “that sounds a bit thin.”
“Dreever, old man,” said Jimmy, “I know it does. But it’s the truth.”
His lordship’s manner became kindly.
“Now, look here, Pitt, old son,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about—we’re all pals here—you can pitch it straight to us. We won’t give you away. We——”
“Be quiet!” cried Molly. “Jimmy!”
Her voice was strained; she spoke with an effort; she was suffering torments. The words her father had said to her on the terrace were pouring back into her mind. She seemed to hear his voice now, cool and confident, warning her against Jimmy, saying that he was crooked. There was a curious whirring in her head. Everything in the room was growing large and misty. She heard Lord Dreever begin to say something that sounded as if some one were speaking at the end of a telephone; and then she was aware that Jimmy was holding her in his arms and calling to Lord Dreever to bring water.
“When a girl goes like that,” said his lordship, with an insufferable air of omniscience, “you want to cut her——”
“Come along!” said Jimmy. “Are you going to be a week getting that water?”