“This is it,” said Arabian, stopping before the big porch.
Sir Seymour stopped, too, hesitated, then said:
“I’ll say good night to you.”
Arabian shot a piercing and morose glance at him, moved his right hand as if about to extend it, dropped it and said:
“Well, but we have not spoken any more about my picture!”
“No.”
“Dick Garstin said you would decide.”
“Scarcely that—was it?”
“But I think it was.”
“Well, but it’s really not my affair.”