Constantly, however, Benton, on his part, would put cunning questions to him concerning Yvonne Ferad, as to what he knew concerning her, and how he had managed to escape over the frontier into Italy.
Late one night as they sat together in the billiard-room after their final game, Benton, removing the cigar from his lips, exclaimed:
“Oh! I quite forgot to tell you, Mrs. Bond has been awfully good to Louise. She took her from Paris with her and they went quite a long tour, first to Spain and other places, and then to New York and back.”
“Has she?” exclaimed Hugh in surprise. Only once before had Benton mentioned Louise’s name, then he had casually remarked that she was on a visit to some friends in Yorkshire.
“Yes. She’s making her home with Mrs. Bond for the present. She returns here to-morrow.”
As he said this, he watched the young man’s face. It was sphinx-like.
“Oh! That’s jolly!” he replied, with well assumed satisfaction. “It seems such an age since we last met—nearly a year before my father’s death, I believe.”
In his heart he had no great liking for the girl, although she was bright, vivacious and extremely good company.
Next afternoon the pair met in the hall after the car had brought her from Guildford station.
“Hallo, Hugh!” she cried as she grasped his hand. “Uncle wrote and told me you were here! How jolly, isn’t it? Why—you seem to have grown older,” she laughed.