chiefly responsible, I think, for his assumption of arrogance. He must
have been newly invigorated to carry on the part every time he scowled at
himself in the glass. He could not conceivably have been anything but a
barrister.

But, to-night, in the darkness, he seemed to have forgotten for once the
perpetual mandate of his facial angle. He was suddenly intimate, almost
humble.

"Of course, you don't realise how cursedly awkward it all is," he said
with the evident desire of opening a confidence.

"Tell me as little or as much as you like," I responded. "You know that
I..."

"Yes, rather," he agreed warmly, and added, "I'd sooner Hughes didn't
know."

"He guesses a lot, though," I put in. "I suppose they all do."

"Oh! well, they're bound to guess something," he said, "but I'm hoping
we'll be able to put that right, now."

"Who are we going to see?" I asked.

He did not reply at once, and then snapped out, "Anne Banks; friend er
Brenda's."

My foolishly whimsical imagination translated that queer medley of sounds
into the thought of a stable-pump. I heard the clank of the handle and