'By gad! I'd like to kill you!'
Mr Burton, glancing up at the speaker, did not turn a hair.
'I'm afraid I haven't the honour. Miss Bewicke, may I ask you to introduce me to the gentleman?'
'With pleasure. Mr Horace Burton, this is Mr Dumville. It is only at my urgent request that he refrains from breaking every bone in your body, as he easily could. But you know, and I know, that for you there's such a very bad time coming that I feel it's quite safe to leave you to the tender mercies of those to whom mercy is unknown. Turn out your pockets!'
'Charmed! I quite appreciate the motive which actuates your request, Miss Bewicke. Nothing could be more natural. But I give you my word of honour that neither of us has anything which belongs to you.'
Notwithstanding, Mr Burton turned his pockets inside out, smiling all the time. His companions followed suit, though scarcely with so much grace. So far as could be seen, neither of them was in possession of anything to which Miss Bewicke could lay claim, as she herself admitted.
'I really do believe you, Mr Burton, when you say that you--none of you--have property of mine. It sounds odd, and you may wonder why, but I do. Good-night.'
'Good-night I am indebted to you, Miss Bewicke, for a pleasant evening's entertainment.'
'Don't mention it. When the time comes to balance your accounts, you'll find the sum-total of your indebtedness altogether beyond your capacity to meet. Go.'
And they went. At least Mr Thomas Cox and the Flyman went--the first-named gentleman with an undignified rush, the second not very far from his heels; but Mr Burton lingered on the threshold to waft a kiss on his finger-tips to Miss Casata.