“Did he ever chase his own dog?” asked Siward, biting his lip.
“Yes—so Blinky says—in the Carolinas last season. It's Blinky!—that's his notion of humour. Did you ever hear such a laugh? No wonder Mr. Quarrier is annoyed.”
The gay uproar had partly subsided, renewed here and there as the sketch was passed along, and finally, making the circle, returned like a bad penny to Quarrier. He smiled again, symmetrically, as he received it, nodding his compliments to Alderdene.
“Oh, no,” cackled his lordship; “I didn't draw it, old chap!”
“Nor I! I only wish I could,” added Captain Voucher.
“Nor I—nor I—who did it?” ran the chorus along the table.
“I didn't do it!” said Sylvia gravely, looking across at Quarrier. And suddenly Quarrier's large, handsome eyes met Siward's for the briefest fraction of a second, then were averted. But into his face there crept an expressionless pallor that did not escape Siward—no, nor Sylvia Landis.
Presently under cover of a rapid fire of chatter she said: “Did you draw that?”
“Yes; I had no idea it was meant for him. You may imagine how likely I'd be to take any liberty with a man who already dislikes me.”
“But it resembles him—in a very dreadful way.”