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But he heard Devar's confident outburst as the two walked off together in the direction of the West Pier. "You are growing positively nervous, my dear Edouard. And why? The affair arranges itself admirably. I shall be always on hand, ready to turn up exactly at the right moment. What the deuce, this is the luck of a lifetime...." The squeaky, high-pitched voice a masculine variant of Mrs.
Devar's blue-moldy joke might even have won a smile but Cynthia was preoccupied; strange that she, too, should be musing of Simmonds and a hurrying car, for Medenham had told her that the transfer would take place at Bristol. She was only twenty-two, and her very extensive knowledge of the world had been obtained by three years of travel and constant association with her father.
"Therefore, I shall not offer you any sort of hospitality at this hour, except the kindest one of saying good-by speedily. You are coming to lunch, I think?" "Lunch!" Devar's head wagged solemnly. Feverishly wakeful, he was really half asleep. "Don't talk to me of lunch.
"Are these Wiggy Devar's credentials? By gad, that shabby little wretch is flying high when she tries to bag my son for her pretty protégée!" "Don't you think it would be wiser, sir, if you allowed me to tell you exactly what has taken place since we met last?" "What good purpose will that serve?
From sheer enjoyment of an absurd situation she would have caused Fitzroy to be summoned then and there, if only to see Wiggy Devar's crestfallen face on learning that she had entertained a viscount unawares.
The car, the luncheon-basket, the rare wine, the crest on the silver, the very candor of the wretch in giving his real name, his instant recognition of "Jimmy" Devar's mother, the hints of a childhood passed in Sussex why, even the aunt he spoke of on Derby Day must be Susan St.
Something in his tone told her that Mrs. Devar's consent to the arrangement had better be taken for granted.
The tiny wavelets of the river murmured and gurgled amid the heavy piles which shored up the landing-place, and Devar's sharp eyes soon detected a corner of the gray-colored limousine round which a ripple had formed.
Devar's cramped handwriting might have concealed some secret of gravest import to each person present. It was not really so thrilling when heard. "That is 'Raven, plain enough I should think," she snapped. "Thank you, mum. 'The Raven, Shrewsbury," read the hall-porter. Medenham caught Marigny's eye. He was minded to laugh outright, but forebore.
He waited, as though to make sure that they appreciated his generalship. Devar's teeth grated, and McCulloch stirred uneasily, but no one spoke. "You'll notice that it is only a few feet away," he said, measuring the distance with a thoughtful eye, "but, to make sure of reaching anybody who might try to monkey with the car, I groped around until I had found two half bricks. Then I waited.
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