Part 41 (1/2)
CHAPTER XII
UNCLE CHRIS BORROWS A FLAT
I
Uncle Chris walked breezily into the room, flicking a jaunty glove. He stopped short on seeing that Mr. Pilkington was not alone.
”Oh, I beg your pardon! I understood....” He peered at Jill uncertainly. Mr. Pilkington affected a dim, artistic lighting-system in his studio, and people who entered from the great outdoors generally had to take time to accustom their eyes to it. ”If you're engaged....”
”Er--allow me.... Miss Mariner.... Major Selby.”
”Hullo, Uncle Chris!” said Jill.
”G.o.d bless my soul!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed that startled gentleman adventurer, and collapsed on to a settee as if his legs had been mown from under him.
”I've been looking for you all over New York,” said Jill.
Mr. Pilkington found himself unequal to the intellectual pressure of the conversation.
”Uncle Chris?” he said with a note of feeble enquiry in his voice.
”Major Selby is my uncle.”
”Are you sure?” said Mr. Pilkington. ”I mean....”
Not being able to ascertain, after a moment's self-examination, what he did mean, he relapsed into silence.
”Whatever are you doing here?” asked Uncle Chris.
”I've been having tea with Mr. Pilkington.”
”But ... but why Mr. Pilkington?”
”Well, he invited me.”
”But how do you know him?”
”We met at the theatre.”
”Theatre?”
Otis Pilkington recovered his power of speech.
”Miss Mariner is rehearsing with a little play in which I am interested,” he explained.
Uncle Chris half rose from the settee. He blinked twice in rapid succession. Jill had never seen him so shaken from his customary poise.
”Don't tell me you have gone on the stage, Jill!”
”I have. I'm in the chorus....”