"
Briscoe suddenly leaned forward from his easy chair and laid his hand on
his cousin's knee.
"Julian," he said anxiously, "I hate to tell you--but my wife has got
that woman here."
Bayne stared, blankly unresponsive. "What woman?" he asked wonderingly.
"Mrs. Royston, you know--Lillian Marable, that was."
Bayne looked as if suddenly checked in headlong speed--startled, almost
stunned. The blood rushed in a tumultuous flood to his thin cheeks, then
receded, leaving his face mottled red and white. His steel-gray eyes
suddenly glowed like hot metal. There was a moment of tense silence; then
he said, his voice steady and controlled, his manner stiff but not
without dignity, "Pray do not allow that to discompose you. She is
nothing to me."
"I know--I know, of course. I would not have mentioned it, but I feared
an unexpected meeting might embarrass you, here in this seclusion where
you cannot avoid each other."
"You need not have troubled yourself," Bayne protested, looking fixedly
at his cigar as he touched off the long ash with a delicate fillip.
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