“I suppose so,” I said, and then added, “Why should you be afraid of asking your father?”
“Because he might—well, if he knew, I’m sure he would sacrifice himself; and I couldn’t run the risk.”
“I am afraid I don’t understand?” I questioned.
“I would rather not explain,” she said, and of course that ended the subject.
Our exercise taken, we went back to the Cullens’ car, and Madge left us to write some letters. A moment later Lord Ralles remembered he had not written home recently, and he too went forward to the dining-room. That made me call myself—something, for not having offered Miss Cullen the use of my desk in 97. Owing to this the two missed part of the big game we were playing; for barely were they gone when one of the servants brought a card to Mr. Cullen, who looked at it and exclaimed, “Mr. Camp!” Then, after a speaking pause, in which we all exchanged glances, he said, “Bring him in.”
On Mr. Camp’s entrance he looked as much surprised as we had all done a moment before. “I beg your pardon for intruding, Mr. Cullen,” he said. “I was told that this was Mr. Gordon’s car, and I wish to see him.”
“I am Mr. Gordon.”
“You are travelling with Mr. Cullen?” he inquired, with a touch of suspicion in his manner.
“No,” I answered. “My special is the next car, and I was merely enjoying a cigar here.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Camp. “Then I won’t interrupt your smoke, and will only relieve you of those letters of mine.”