"Come along and dine. We can talk
afterwards."
Grange accompanied him moodily to the dining-room. "I thought you were
away," he remarked, as they sat down.
"I was," said Nick. "Came back last night. When do you sail?"
"On Friday. I came down to say good-bye."
"Muriel is at Weir," observed Nick.
"Yes. I shall go on there to-morrow. Daisy is only here for a night or
two to pack up her things."
"And then?" said Nick.
Grange stiffened perceptibly. "I don't know what her plans are. She
never makes up her mind till the last minute."
Nick laughed. "She evidently hasn't taken you into her confidence. She
is going East this winter."
Grange looked up sharply. "I don't believe it."
"It's true all the same," said Nick indifferently, and forthwith
forsook the subject.
He started other topics, racing, polo, politics, airily ignoring his
guest's undeniable surliness, till at last Grange's uneasiness began
to wear away. He gradually overcame his depression, and had even
managed to capture some of his customary courtesy before the end of
dinner. His attitude was quite friendly when they finally adjourned to
the library to smoke.
Nick followed him into the room and stopped to shut the door.
Grange had gone straight to the fire, and he did not see him slip
something into his pocket as he came forward.
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