And then the door opened abruptly and Sir Terence came in. Nor did
he discreetly withdraw as a man of feeling should have done before
the intimate and touching spectacle that met his eyes. On the
contrary, he remained like the infernal marplot that he intended
to be.
"Very proper," he sneered. "Very fit and proper that he should
put right in the eyes of the world the reputation you have damaged
for his sake, Sylvia. I suppose you're to be married."
They moved apart, and each stared at O'Moy Sylvia in cold anger,
Tremayne in chagrin.
"You see, Sylvia," the captain cried, at this voicing of the world's
opinion he feared so much on her behalf.
"Does she?" said Sir Terence, misunderstanding. "I wonder? Unless
you've made all plain."
The captain frowned.
"Made what plain?" he asked. "There is something here I don't
understand, O'Moy. Your attitude towards me ever since you ordered
me under arrest has been entirely extraordinary. It has troubled me
more than anything else in all this deplorable affair."
"I believe you," snorted O'Moy, as with his hands behind his back
he strode forward into the room. He was pale, and there was a set,
malignant sneer upon his lip, a malignant look in the blue eyes
that were habitually so clear and honest.
Pages:
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336