“Your Cahusac told you no more than the truth, it seems.”
“I perceived that you were testing it,” said his lordship. “I am wondering precisely why.”
Receiving no answer, he continued to observe her silently, his long, tapering fingers toying with a ringlet of the golden periwig in which his long face was set.
Miss Bishop sat bemused, her brows knit, her brooding glance seeming to study the fine Spanish point that edged the tablecloth. At last his lordship broke the silence.
“He amazes me, this man,” said he, in his slow, languid voice that never seemed to change its level. “That he should alter his course for us is in itself matter for wonder; but that he should take a risk on our behalf—that he should venture into Jamaica waters.... It amazes me, as I have said.”
Miss Bishop raised her eyes, and looked at him. She appeared to be very thoughtful. Then her lip flickered curiously, almost scornfully, it seemed to him. Her slender fingers drummed the table.
“What is still more amazing is that he does not hold us to ransom,” said she at last.
“It's what you deserve.”
“Oh, and why, if you please?”
“For speaking to him as you did.”