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Mr. Dayne had stood listening with a half-mystical look, a man groping for elusive truths. Now his fine composure seemed to cloud for a moment; but it shone out again, fair and strong. And presently, as he paced, he was heard humming again his strange paradoxical song, which he, a parson, seemed to lean upon, as a wounded man leans on his friend.
A fine black cutaway coat, a handsome pair of "extra" trousers, shirts, and shoes, and, peeping beneath all, glimpses of a pretty blue suit quite obviously as good as new. There stood the wonder, silent and uncouth, in the doorway. Do you doubt that Sam O'Neill and Mr. Dayne knew, the moment their eyes saw, that here were the crows come?
This," said she, struggling to speak calmly, "is treachery." "Appearances, I am sorry to say, are much that way. Still I think we should not condemn the paper unheard." "Then why not have the hearing at once? An explanation is " "I shall seek none," interrupted Mr. Dayne, quietly. "The Post must volunteer it, if it has any to offer.
"I have nothing to forgive you for, Mr. Dayne. In fact, I have no idea what you are talking about." But Mr. Dayne did not enlighten him; in fact he was already walking briskly down the hall. Clearly the man had business that would not brook an instant's delay.
Having had two rather variegated years at college, he felt he must show his sophistication by holding himself above some of those simple old observances. "S'pose you are here for solemn and serious work, you two," he remarked mockingly, as he saw the boys. "I just met Marcia Dayne, and she told me you were registering.
And then came June and with it the manuscript and all the flood of information about the Agence Moignon and Bakkus and Petit Patou and Prepimpin and Elodie and various other things that I have yet to set down. While Lady Auriol Dayne was rocking about the Outer Hebrides, we find Andrew Lackaday in Paris confronted with the grim necessity of earning a livelihood.
The walls were stretched with blue silk, there were large mirrors and great gilt cornices. Passing into the bedroom I found the young god wallowing in the finest of fine linen in a great Louis XV. bed, and there were cupids above him. "Holloa! what, you back again, Dayne? we thought we weren't going to see you again." "It's nearly one o'clock: get up. What's the news?"
So he asked his question dumbly, with a movement of matted head and eyebrow; and when Mr. Dayne answered in a curious voice, "Yes ... he's gone," the last expectancy faded from the rough vague face. He sidled in, timid and unwilling; laid his burden, speechless, upon a chair. And then he was shambling furtively out the door again, when the parson's hand took his shoulder.
"I can absolutely assure you," I cried hotly, "that by no remote possibility can there be anything else between Lady Auriol Dayne and Petit Patou." He thrust out both his hands and fervently grasped the one I instinctively put forward. "Thank you, thank you, my dear Hylton. That's exactly what I wanted to know. Au revoir. I think we said ten o'clock." He marched away briskly.
"But could we get the boys?" She felt that the unconsciousness with which he took her into partnership was one of the finest compliments that had ever been paid her. "Oh, I think so! The Department has all sorts of connections, as well as lots of data which would be useful in that way. How Mr. Dayne will welcome you as an ally! And I, too. I think it is fine of you, Mr.
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