Part 118 (2/2)

”Very glad to meet you.”

Sir Seymour bowed, and said:

”Thanks.”

”Sit down, my boy!” said Garstin, with sudden heartiness, laying a hand on Arabian's shoulder. ”And I know you'll put your lips to a whisky.”

”Thank you,” said Arabian.

And he sat down in a deep arm-chair. Sir Seymour saw his brown eyes, for a moment hard and inquiring, rest upon the visitor he had not expected to find, and wondered whether Arabian remembered having seen him before.

If so Arabian would also remember that he, Seymour, was a friend of Adela Sellingworth, who had been with him at the Ritz on that day ten years ago.

”Say how much,” said Garstin, coming up with the whisky.

Sir Seymour noticed that Arabian took a great deal of the spirit and very little soda-water with it. Directly his gla.s.s was filled--it was a long gla.s.s--he drank almost greedily.

”A cigar?” said Garstin. ”But I know without asking.”

”I do not refuse,” said Arabian.

And Sir Seymour hated his voice, while realizing that it was agreeable, perhaps even seductive.

”There! Now we're cozy!” said Garstin. ”But I wish Sir Seymour you'd join us!”

”If you will allow me I will smoke a light cigar I have here.”

And Sir Seymour drew out a cigar-case and lit up a pale and long Havannah.

”That's better!” said Garstin, drinking. ”How's Beryl, my boy?”

”I have not seen Miss Van Tuyn to-day,” said Arabian. ”But I hope to see her to-morrow.”

He looked at Sir Seymour, and there seemed to be a flicker of suspicion in his eyes.

”DO you know Miss Van Tuyn?” he asked.

”Very slightly,” said Sir Seymour. ”I have met her once or twice in London. She is a very beautiful creature.”

There was constraint in the room. Sir Seymour felt it strongly and feared that it came from something in him. Evidently he was not a very good actor. He found it difficult to be easy and agreeable with a man whom he longed to get hold of by the collar and thrash till it was time to hand him over to the police. But he resolved to make a strong effort to conceal what he could not conquer. And he began to talk to Arabian.

Afterwards he could not remember what they had talked about just then.

He could only remember the strangeness which he had realized as he sat there smoking his Havannah, the strangeness of life. That he should be smoking and chatting with the scoundrel who had changed Adela's existence, who had tricked her, robbed her, driven her into the solitude which had lasted ten years! And why was he doing it? He did not absolutely know. But his instinct had told him to stay on in Garstin's studio when everything else in him, revolting, had shrunk from meeting this beast, unless and until he could deal with him properly.

He had smoked about half his cigar, and the constraint in the room seemed to him to be lessened, though not abolished, when the conversation took a turn quite unexpected by him. And all that was said in the studio from that moment remained firmly fixed in his memory.

Garstin got up to fetch some more whisky for Arabian, whose gla.s.s was now empty, and as he came back with the decanter he said to Arabian:

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