"I
mean to say, Margaret, if you've anything to tell me about Rita . . .
Have you? Have you?"
He fixed his gaze eagerly upon her.
"I have--yes."
Seton prepared to take his leave, but Gray impetuously thrust him
back, immediately turning again to his cousin.
"Perhaps you haven't heard, Margaret," he began. "I have heard what
has happened tonight--to Sir Lucien."
Both men stared at her silently for a moment.
"Seton has been with me all the time," said Gray. "If he will consent
to stay, with your permission, Margaret, I should like him to do so."
"Why, certainly," agreed the girl. "In fact, I shall be glad of his
advice."
Seton inclined his head, and without another word resumed his seat.
Gray was too excited to sit down again. He stood on the tiger-skin rug
before the fender, watching his cousin and smoking furiously.
"Firstly, then," continued Margaret, "please throw that cigarette in
the fire, Quentin."
Gray removed the cigarette from between his lips, and stared at it
dazedly. He looked at the girl, and the clear grey eyes were watching
him with an inscrutable expression.
"Right-o!" he said awkwardly, and tossed the cigarette in the fire.
"You used to smoke like a furnace, Margaret. Is this some new 'cult'?"
"I still smoke a great deal more than is good for me," she confessed,
"but I don't smoke opium.
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