"Yes—yes—yes! Isn't it splendid? Now, Ashford, you can tell the rest."
"Guess there isn't much left to tell," said Billing, still smiling. "Well, sir, Miss Blair told me about your play a month ago now. My reader reported favorably on it, and I read it myself. I think it will go, Mr. Mortimer, if I'm any judge; and when you get back to London we can fix up the contract. I hope it will mean something hot for both of us."
Lionel turned, incapable of speech, to Beatrice. He thanked her with his eyes, but more than thanks lay in them, and Billing noticed the mutual look with an inward groan. There was silence for a moment. Then Billing squared his shoulders, and in a matter-of-fact voice said, "Well, I calculate I must be getting home."
Beatrice protested. There was not the least hurry. There was no sense in this flying over to see them and only staying for ten minutes. He must stop and have dinner: why not sleep?...
"You forget I don't know your sister," he replied with a peculiar smile. Beatrice blushed. Lionel did not notice the blush. He was too busy thinking of the new vistas that opened before him even to hear what they were saying. He despised the flying man, for did not he, Lionel, tread upon the air?
"I'll arrange that somehow," said Beatrice quickly. "Ashford, you really must stop. I want to talk to you."
"Excuse me," he said with a queer smile that was not of joy, "but I guess I know better than that." His voice sank. "My dear, I wish you luck!"
"Oh, Ashford, dear!" she whispered, "I'm so sorry ... I'm so sorry...."
"That's all right," he said more cheerfully. "Now, I'm really going, never to worry you again. Hello! what's this?"
His exclamation of surprise caused them to turn and look toward The Quiet House.