She made him a sweeping bow. "In a good cause."
"About which I shall doubtless hear to-morrow?"
"Don't I always confess my good actions?"
"At what hour does the victim's dying shriek rend the quivering air?"
"Mr. Surtaine is due here at half past eight."
"Humph! Young Surtaine, eh? Shy bird, if it has taken all this time to bring him down. Well, run and dress. It's after five and that gives you less than three hours for prinking up, counting dinner in."
Whatever time and effort may have gone to the making of the Great American Pumess's toilet, Hal thought, as he came down the long room to where she stood embowered in pink, that he had never beheld anything so freshly lovely. She gave him a warm and yielding hand in welcome, and drew away a bit, surveying him up and down with friendly eyes.
"You're looking unusually smart to-night," she approved. "London clothes don't set so well on many Americans. But your tie is askew. Wait. Let me do it."
With deft fingers she twitched and patted the bow into submission. The touch of intimacy represented the key in which she had chosen to pitch her play. Sinking back into a cushioned corner of the settee, she curled up cozily, and motioned him to a chair.
"Draw it around," she directed. "I want you where you can't get away, for I'm going to cast a spell over you."