"Try one of these, Margaret," he said. "They are great, and will quite
drown the unpleasant odor of which you complain."
Whereupon the observant Seton saw a quick change take place in the
girl's expression. She had the same clear coloring as her cousin, and
now this freshness deserted her cheeks, and her pretty face became
quite pale. She was staring at the brown packet. "Where did you get
them?" she asked quietly.
A smile faded from Gray's lips. Those five words had translated him in
spirit to that green-draped room in which Sir Lucien Pyne was lying
dead. He glanced at Seton in the appealing way which sometimes made
him appear so boyish.
"Er--from Pyne," he replied. "I must tell you, Margaret--"
"Sir Lucien Pyne?" she interrupted.
"Yes."
"Not from Rita Irvin?"
Quentin Gray started upright in his chair.
"No! But why do you mention her?"
Margaret bit her lip in sudden perplexity.
"Oh, I don't know." She glanced apologetically toward Seton. He rose
immediately.
"My dear Miss Halley," he said, "I perceive, indeed I had perceived
all along, that you have something of a private nature to communicate
to your cousin."
But Gray stood up, and:
"Seton! . . . Margaret!" he said, looking from one to the other.
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