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Updated: May 26, 2025
Flamel," she said, indifferently. "Flamel? Again?" She answered without show of surprise. "He left just now. His yacht is down at Laurel Bay and he borrowed a trap of the Dreshams to drive over here." Glennard made no comment, and she went on, leaning her head back against the cushions of her bamboo-seat, "He wants us to go for a sail with him next Sunday." Glennard meditatively stirred his tea.
"I didn't have tea at the Dreshams, you know; won't you give me some now?" he suggested. As he gathered up his papers he said to his wife: "You're not going to sit indoors on such a night as this? I'll join you presently outside." But she had drawn her armchair to the lamp. "I want to look at my book," she said, taking up the first volume of the "Letters."
"Where have you been?" Glennard asked, moving forward so that he obstructed her vision of the books. "I walked over to the Dreshams for tea." "I can't think what you see in those people," he said with a shrug; adding, uncontrollably "I suppose Flamel was there?" "No; he left on the yacht this morning."
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