Suddenly the spaniel leapt up with that feverish, spider-like activity
of the toy species and began to bark.
Monte Irvin paused in his restless patrol and listened.
"Lie down!" he said. "Be quiet."
The spaniel ran to the door, sniffing eagerly. A muffled sound of
voices became audible, and Irvin, following a moment of hesitation,
crossed and opened the door. The dog ran out, yapping in his
irritating staccato fashion, and an expression of hope faded from
Irvin's face as he saw a tall fair girl standing in the hallway
talking to Hinkes, the butler. She wore soiled Burberry, high-legged
tan boots, and a peaked cap of distinctly military appearance. Irvin
would have retired again, but the girl glanced up and saw him where he
stood by the library door. He summoned up a smile and advanced.
"Good evening, Miss Halley," he said, striving to speak genially--for
of all of his wife's friends he liked Margaret Halley the best. "Were
you expecting to find Rita at home?"
The girl's expression was vaguely troubled. She had the clear
complexion and bright eyes of perfect health, but to-night her eyes
seemed over-bright, whilst her face was slightly pale.
"Yes," she replied; "that is, I hoped she might be at home.
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