He returned with a shrug of the shoulders to his table in the morning-room. He was deeply attached to Dick, but a lifelong habit of regarding him as a good-natured, stupid, and contented giant blinded him to the storm that was beginning to rage in the other's soul. The occurrence was unfortunate. It wounded the poor old fellow's vanity. Banstead's blatant folly had been enough to set any man in a rage. But, after all, Dick was a common-sense creature, and, recognising that Austin was in no way to blame, he would soon get over it. Meanwhile, there was awaiting him the joyful surprise of Vancouver, which would soon put such petty mortifications out of his head. Thus Austin consoled himself, and settled down to the serious matters of his correspondence.
Viviette, coming in later in hat and jacket, found him busily writing. He looked up at her admiringly as she stood against the background of light framed by the great French window.
"Am I presentable?" she asked, with a smile, interpreting his glance.
"Each modification of your dress makes you seem more bewitching than the last."
"I trimmed this hat myself," she said, coming into the room, and looking at herself in a Queen Anne mirror on the wall.
"That's why it's so becoming," said Austin.
She wheeled round on him with a laugh. "You really ought to say something cleverer than that!"
"How can I," he replied, "when you drive my wits away?"
"Poor me," she said. And then, suddenly, "Where's Dick?"
"What do you want Dick for?"