"It's awfully kind of you, Loring." O'Rane hesitated and grew very red. "I don't think I shall have time, though."
"Not for one night, even? Loring House, Curzon Street, will find me all the holidays."
"I'm afraid I shall be working."
"Bunkum! You've not got any work to do."
"I have."
"What kind?"
The old expression of defiance battling with prolonged persecution came into O'Rane's black eyes. "If you must know," he said, "I came here with enough money for one term and I must raise some more. It's awfully kind of you, though. Good-bye. I hope you'll have a pleasant time. Good-bye, Oakleigh."
As the door closed behind him, Loring turned to me with a rueful shake of the head.
"I seem to have a genius for putting my foot into it with him," he observed.
"It couldn't be helped," I said. "He's a mysterious little animal."