No care-free prospector, singing his way through the Mojave Desert and suddenly finding himself confronted by a rattlesnake, could have experienced so abrupt a change of mood as did Ginger at this revolting spectacle. Even in their native Piccadilly it had been unpleasant to run into Mr. Carmyle. To find him here now was nothing short of nauseating. Only one thing could have brought him to this place. Obviously, he must have come to see Sally; and with a sudden sinking of the heart Ginger remembered the shiny, expensive automobile which he had seen waiting at the door. He, it was clear, was not the only person to whom the idea had occurred of taking Sally for a drive on this golden day.
He was still standing there when Mr. Carmyle swung round with a frown on his dark face which seemed to say that he had not found the janitor's conversation entertaining. The sight of Ginger plainly did nothing to lighten his gloom.
“Hullo!” he said.
“Hullo!” said Ginger.
Uncomfortable silence followed these civilities.
“Have you come to see Miss Nicholas?”
“Why, yes.”
“She isn't here,” said Mr. Carmyle, and the fact that he had found someone to share the bad news, seemed to cheer him a little.
“Not here?”
“No. Apparently...” Bruce Carmyle's scowl betrayed that resentment which a well-balanced man cannot but feel at the unreasonableness of others. “... Apparently, for some extraordinary reason, she has taken it into her head to dash over to England.”