Gordon hardened his heart.
"Disconnect the 'phone then," he said sharply, and flung himself into a great settle which stood in the domed hall.
"Very good, sir."
The man was moving away.
"If my mother or sister should come here, I'm out. Send word down to the office that there's no one in."
The valet's face was quite expressionless. Gordon Carbhoy had his own way of dealing with his affairs. Harding understood this. He was also devoted to his master.
"Yes, sir."
He vanished out of the hall.
Left alone a great change came over Gordon. The old buoyancy and humor seemed suddenly to fall from him. For once his eyes were perfectly, almost painfully serious. He stared about him, searching the remoteness of his surroundings, his eyes and thoughts dwelling on the luxury of the apartment he had occupied for the last three years. It was a two-floored masterpiece of builder's ingenuity. It was to be his home no longer.
That splendid domed hall had been the scene of many innocent revels. Yes, in spite of the accusation of immorality, his parties had been innocent enough. He had entertained the boys and girls of his acquaintance royally, but—innocently. Well, that was all done with. It was just a memory. The future was his concern.