"Sybil," said Esmé, sharply, "this is not wise, not right."
"We came to meet a cousin," Sybil whimpered. "She never came. I had to come—I had to. And now he's angry." She shivered a little, half tearful, half frightened.
"No, she would not come," said Esmé, drily; "but lie as I lie, my child, or there may be some pretty stories floating about London."
"Oh! you've ordered dinner," she said to Angy, "and I've just found Miss Chauntsey. She was dining with Captain Helmsley's cousin, Mrs Gore. But she is putting her off and joining our party at the Metropole."
Mr Beerhaven opened his mouth twice without emitting any particular sound.
"She's just gone home, hasn't she, Sybil?" said Esmé. "Quite a pretty woman. Come along."
Again Angy opened his mouth and shut it. It was not his part to say that he knew Mrs Gore to be in London. Angy was not altogether bad-hearted and he disliked Jimmie Gore Helmsley.
"Rotten!" said Mr Beerhaven, speaking at last.
"Eh?" said Esmé, sharply.
"Rotten luck, y'know, on Mrs Gore, but so glad. We'd better drive back. And a rotten chap," said Angy, forcibly. "You're a brick, Mrs Carteret." This speech made Esmé understand that Angy Beerhaven was not as big a fool as he looked.