"It comes down right over my heels—it's ripping and warm."
They walked on in silence for about a quarter of a mile. Then the distant throbbing of a car troubled the evening. It drew nearer, and they stood aside to let it pass them in the narrow lane.
But instead of passing, it pulled up suddenly, and out jumped Sir Gambier Strife.
Their surprise and dismay were so great that for a time they could not use their tongues. Sir Gambier stood before them, his face flushed, his mouth a little open, while the dusk and the arc-lights of the huge motor had games with his figure, making it seem monstrous and misshapen.
"Father——" began Tony, and then stopped. She was really the least disconcerted of the three, for she had only Mr. Smith to deal with—surely the presence of such a knight could easily be explained and forgiven. But the other two had to face the complication of Furlonger.
"What the——" broke from Strife, after the time-honoured formula of the man who wants to swear, but objects on principle to swearing before women.
The colour mounted on Nigel's face, from his neck to his cheeks, from his cheeks to his forehead—and gradually his head drooped.
Tony turned to him with sublime assurance.
"Father, let me introduce Mr. Smith."