"
The man's eyes passed across Traill's face as they wandered to the
portrait of James Brownrigg over the mantelpiece.
"Well, I'm at a loose end," he said. He took a gold cigarette-case
from his pocket and extracted a cigarette. Traill continued his
gymnastics with the shirt, forcing studs through obdurate holes,
fastening links and muttering under his breath.
"I thought we might have dined together and taken the little lady
to a music hall, like we did before. How long ago was that?"
Traill tramped into the other room and came out, struggling with a
collar.
"Oh, last September, wasn't it?"
"Something like that, getting on for a year. How is she?"
"Oh, first rate. Will you have a drink?"
"No, thanks, old man. Where are you going to?"
"I'm dining with my sister. Going to some theatre, I believe."
"Ah, I saw your sister the other day, about a couple of weeks ago."
He seated himself, hitching his trousers above the uppers of his
boots. "Prince's, I think it was. Yes, she was skating with that Miss
Standish-Roe."
"Yes, she's coming with my sister and me this evening."
"Is she?" Again his eye lifted to Traill's face. "Damned pretty
girl.
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