"Ormuz Khan has been so good," she said. "He sent his secretary
to see if he could be of any assistance yesterday, but I
certainly had not expected this."
Her eyes filled with tears again, and, because he thought they
were tears of gratitude, Harley clenched his hand tightly so that
the muscles of his forearm became taut to Phil Abingdon's touch.
She looked up at him, smiling pathetically: "Don't you think it
was awfully kind of him?" she asked.
"Very," replied Harley.
A dry and sepulchral cough of approval came from Doctor
McMurdoch; and Harley divined with joy that when the ordeal of
the next day was over Phil Abingdon would have to face
cross-examination by the conscientious Scotsman respecting this
stranger whose attentions, if Orientally extravagant, were
instinct with such generous sympathy.
For some reason the heavy perfume of the hyacinths affected him
unpleasantly. All his old doubts and suspicions found a new life,
so that his share in the conversation which presently arose
became confined to a few laconic answers to direct questions.
He was angry, and his anger was more than half directed against
himself, because he knew that he had no shadow of right to
question this girl about her friendships or even to advise her.
He determined, however, even at the cost of incurring a rebuke,
to urge Doctor McMurdoch to employ all the influence he possessed
to terminate an acquaintanceship which could not be otherwise
than undesirable, if it was not actually dangerous.
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