Hilary threw up his eyes. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. "Shortly after your last visit to Dollis Hill, my father was one evening waylaid by a man, who informed him that he had something to communicate respecting Thames, and had a large sum of money, and some important documents to deliver to him, which would be given up, provided he would undertake to procure your liberation. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. ’ ‘So this is the way you serve me,’ exclaimed Melusine, her quick temper flaring as she jumped up, slammed her hands on the desk and leaned towards him over it. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say.
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