Littimer
looked from one to the other in hesitation for a moment. The hard lines
between his brows softened.
"Perhaps I am wrong," he muttered. "Perhaps there has been a mistake
somewhere. And if ever I find out I have--pshaw, I am talking like a
sentimental schoolgirl. Have I not had evidence strong as proof of Holy
Writ that ... Get out of my sight, your presence angers me. Go, and never
let me see you again. Reginald, you were a fool to bring that boy here
to-night. See him off the premises and fasten the door again."
"Surely," Christabel interfered, "surely at this time of the night--"
"You should be in bed," Littimer said, tartly. "My dear young lady, if
you and I are to remain friends I must ask you to mind your own business.
It is a dreadfully difficult thing for a woman to do, but you must try.
You understand?"
Christabel was evidently putting a strong constraint on her tongue, for
she merely bowed and said nothing. She had her own good reasons for the
diplomacy of silence. Henson and Frank Littimer were disappearing in the
direction of the staircase.
"I say nothing," Christabel said.
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