Lord Archibald removed his hands from his face. The two men looked at each other--the one face ghastly, haggard, frightened; the other easy, careless, smiling.
"Do you mean it?"
Lord Archibald's voice was husky. Mr. Townsend flicked the ash from his cigarette.
"I am in the habit, in matters of moment, of meaning what I say, although that may not be the case with you."
The airily-suggested insinuation stung. The other burst into a sudden blaze of passion.
"What do you mean by that?"
The host met his visitor's furious gaze with a smile which seemed to convey a fulness of meaning which was sufficient to subdue the other's wrath.
"What did you mean by asking me if I meant what I said? Didn't you know?"
Lord Archibald turned his face away. Taking up the tumbler of soda and whisky he drained it of its contents. Getting up from his chair, he went to the sideboard to replenish. While he was in the act of doing so, and his back towards his host, he asked a question.
"Who is it?"