"He's nothing but a daft old idiot, my dear."
The dinner had started wrong, and though Paget steered the conversation
to safer ground, it did not go very well. At least three of those
present were a little on edge. Even Sheba, who had missed entirely the
point of the veiled thrusts, knew that Elliot was not in harmony with
either Diane or Macdonald.
Gordon was ashamed of himself. He could not quite have told what were
the impulses that had moved him to carry the war into the camp of the
enemy. Perhaps, more than anything else, it had been a certain look of
quiet assurance in the eyes of his rival when he looked at Sheba.
He rose promptly at ten.
"Must you go so soon?" Diane asked. She was smiling at him with bland
mockery.
"I really must," answered Elliot.
His hostess followed him into the hall. She watched him get into his
coat before saying what was on her mind.
"What did you mean by telling Sheba that old Holt knew her father?
What is he to tell her if they meet--that her father died of pneumonia
brought on by drink? Is that what you want?"
Gordon was honestly contrite. "I didn't think of that."
"No, you were too busy thinking of something mean to say to Mr.
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