He paused abruptly. She flashed a quick glance of enquiry at him.
“Not to what, Mr. Hammond?”
“I wonder,” he replied, “if I ought to say what I left unsaid?”
“Why not?” she asked.
“I don’t know why I should not,” he laughed. “I was going to say that, to have a bright, beautiful, graceful woman like Madge Finisterre pouring out tea for him, makes a man think what a fool he is not to marry.”
His tone and glance were alike full of meaning. She could not mistake him. Her colour heightened visibly. Her eyes drooped before his ardent gaze. The situation became tense and full of portent.
The opening of the door at that instant changed everything. George Carlyon had returned. At the same moment a wire was brought to Hammond, together with a sheaf of letters—the afternoon mail.
CHAPTER VII.
“COMING.”
George Carlyon’s entrance, the arrival of the afternoon mail, and the telegram gave Madge Finisterre an opportunity to escape. George Carlyon was anxious to leave, and Madge rose at once to accompany him.