“No—er—no, my dear fellow,” replied the other hurriedly, with a curious smile. “Never saw her in my life. The likeness is very like some one—some one I once knew,” he added hastily, as he scrutinised it carefully, looking upon the back at the name of the photographer. “But I see I—I’m mistaken, it isn’t she.”
And he returned the picture to me.
“Who’s the lady?” inquired Bob. “Pretty woman, without a doubt.”
“Ask no questions,” I replied, smiling mysteriously. “A purely private matter.”
“Hum!—those private matters are entertaining, sometimes,” remarked Ted, as he and Bob laughed at my confusion; but as Demetrius returned just at that moment, the subject dropped.
We went to the smoking-room and sat chatting over coffee and liqueurs, but I noticed a marked difference in the manner of Rivers. He was no longer gay, but gloomy and taciturn, and more than once I caught him regarding me with an evil, angry glitter in his dark eyes, and a scowl upon his features. The others noticed it also, but made no remark.
When the clock chimed ten Ted rose, and addressing Nugent, said: “You must excuse me, old fellow, but I’ve an engagement which I must keep. Sorry to have to leave you so early, but it’s a matter of rather urgent business.”
“Oh, no. Stay another hour; the evening’s young yet,” urged Demetrius.
“Very sorry; but I cannot.”
“Put off your engagement till to-morrow,” I suggested, but he made no reply, affecting not to have heard me.