He caught sight of Sallie, bewilderingly beautiful in a costume such as he had not set eyes upon since—he had last dined there himself. He squared his stooping shoulders again, and saw Slyne rise from his seat, the wine-glass the butler had just filled for him in one hand.
The talk and laughter gradually subsided and silence ensued. Lord Jura took a tentative step toward the table, and stopped again as Slyne's careless, smiling glance suddenly met his and changed to a rigid scowl. Then Captain Dove looked round, and, after a breathless interval, "What the devil do you want here, Brasse!" he cried explosively.
At the sound of that harsh, hated voice, all the uncertain presence of mind the intruder could boast deserted him. He stood as if rooted there, a shrinking, irresolute figure, until the old factor came shuffling across the floor toward him and some one else lifted the shade off one of the lights on the candelabra so that it shone full on his drawn, haggard face.
CHAPTER XXVII
DEBIT AND CREDIT
"And you're—Earl of Jura—now," stammered Herries, helplessly, as though that undeniable fact altogether staggered belief.
The ragged scarecrow with the eye-glass nodded, somewhat shamefacedly, and once more made a pitiful effort to straighten his stooping shoulders. Herries looked away, wretchedly, and then, as if understanding something of what must be in his mind, took it upon himself to dismiss the servants, but bidding them remain within call and also to see to it that no word went elsewhere of what they had seen and heard in the banquet-hall.
The rest of the company were regarding the ex-engineer of the Olive Branch with very varied expressions. A sickly pallor had overspread Slyne's rigid features as he heard the title by which Herries had addressed that untimeous intruder. Captain Dove, his hands still on the table before him, and crouching as if to spring, was breathing jerkily from between set teeth, like one with a seizure. The Marquis of Ingoldsby's narrow forehead was corrugated by a fixed and splenetic frown which kept his eyes and mouth at their very widest. Behind Sallie's questioning, compassionate, clouded glance lurked hope, and fear, and a steadfast determination; she was still holding fast the stem of her wine-glass. Justin Carthew looked as if he did not know in the least who or where he was. Mr. Jobling's purple visage and pendulous jowl spoke plainly the apoplectic and painful nature of his emotions. Of them all, only the Duchess of Dawn seemed to have preserved any measure of self-possession.
While Herries was giving the butler his orders, she crossed toward the fireplace with a little characteristic, impulsive gesture.