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Lightbody, fearing to betray himself, did not dare to look at the triumphant bachelor. He covered his eyes with his hands and sought to fight down the joyful hysteria that began to shake his whole body. All at once he caught sight of De Gollyer's impish eyes, and, unable longer to contain himself, burst out laughing.
The moment had come which could no longer be evaded. Lightbody rose, turned, met the lurking malice in De Gollyer's eyes with the blank indecision screen of his own, and, turning on his heel, went to a little closet in the wall, and bore back a decanter and glasses. "This is not what we serve on the table," he said irrelevantly. "It's whisky."
At the round table, Quinny alone, absorbing energy as he devoured the conversation, having routed Steingall on the Germans and archæology and Rankin on the origins of the Lord's Prayer, had seized a chance remark of De Gollyer's to say: "There are only half a dozen stories in the world. Like everything that's true it isn't true."
Releasing the letter, he disdainfully allowed it to settle down on the desk, and finished: "Come now, as a matter of fact there is a little something consoling, isn't there?" From the moment he had perceived De Gollyer's idea. Lightbody had become very quiet, gazing steadily ahead, seeing neither the door nor the retaining walls. "I never thought of that," he said, almost in a whisper.
I adored her from the moment I met her. It was that adoration one woman in the world one woman I adored her!" The imp of irony continued to play about De Gollyer's eyes and slightly twitching lips. "Quite so quite so," he said. "Of course you know, dear boy, you weren't always so so lonely the old days you surprise me."
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