“Oh, you can never tell,” Monty returned modestly.
Alice joined them in retreat. “Michael’s thirst is catching,” she asserted. “I’m for some champagne, children, are you?”
“Sure,” said Monty. “What’s a quart amongst three?”
Taylor watched them depart, sneeringly. He hated the idle rich with the intensity of a man who has longed to be of them and knows he cannot. The look he flung at Miss Cartwright was not pleasant.
“What did you mean by telling them upstairs that you had never seen me before?” he cried vindictively.
“You said under no circumstances was I to mention your name.”
He looked a trifle disconcerted at this simple explanation. He was in a mood for punishment, and rebuke.
“Yes,” he admitted, “but—”
“You said it was imperative your identity should not be disclosed,” the girl reminded him.
“I suppose that’s true in a way,” he conceded; “but when you saw me wanting to prove who I was, why didn’t you help?”