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Standing on a flat rock side by side, I nerved myself to ask this girl the same question I had asked her friend, Edith Metford, how much she knew of the extraordinary and preposterous Society as I still tried to consider it which Herbert Brande had founded.
"Get me out of this, I am stifled ill," Miss Metford said, in a low voice to me. As we were hurrying from the room, Brande and his sister, who had joined him, met us. The fire had died out of his eyes. His voice had returned to its ordinary key. His demeanour was imperturbable, sphinx-like.
I pointed out that there might be drawbacks to this amendment of my proposal. "What drawbacks?" Miss Metford asked. "For instance, isn't it probable we shall all be arrested by the police?" I replied. "Rubbish! We are not in Russia," both exclaimed. "Which is lucky for you," I reflected, as we commenced what was to me a most disagreeable walk. I got them into a cab sooner than they wished.
As I was returning dejected after my fruitless appeal to Natalie, I met Edith Metford, to whom I had unhappily mentioned my proposal for an escape. "Is it arranged? When do we start?" she asked eagerly. "It is not arranged, and we do not start," I answered in despair. "You told me you would go with her or without her," she cried passionately. "It is shameful unmanly."
Edith, how can you say that?" Natalie Brande exclaimed, still trembling. "Such dreadful violence! The poor men knew no better." "Poor fiddlesticks! It is well for you that Marcel is a man of violence. He's worth a dozen sheep like " "Like whom, Miss Metford?" Rockingham asked, glaring at her so viciously that I interposed with a hasty entreaty that all should hurry to the ship.
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