"Right-o!" he said. "If you will excuse me for a moment I will get my
notes. Hello, here's Gray!"
A little two-seater came bowling along the road from Cairo, and drew
up beneath the balcony. It was the car which had belonged to Margaret
when in practice in Dover Street. Quentin Gray jumped out, waving his
hand cheerily to the quartette above, and went in at the doorway.
Seton walked through the flat and admitted him.
"Sorry I'm late!" cried Gray, impetuous and boyish as ever, although
he looked older and had grown very bronzed. "The chief detained me."
"Go through to them," said Seton informally. "I'm getting my notes;
we're going to read the thrilling story of the Kazmah mystery before
dinner."
"Good enough!" cried Gray. "I'm in the dark on many points."
He had outlived his youthful infatuation, although it was probable
enough that had Rita been free he would have presented himself as a
suitor without delay. But the old relationship he had no desire to
renew. A generous self-effacing regard had supplanted the madness of
his earlier passion. Rita had changed too; she had learned to know
herself and to know her husband.
So that when Seton Pasha presently rejoined his guests, he found the
most complete harmony to prevail among them.
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