and fringed with black lashes, held all at once a startled look. 'I - you told me, didn't you?'
'No,' said Antonia.
He gave an uncertain laugh. 'Yes, you did. Over the telephone. You've forgotten. But you see the position, don't you?. Of course, it doesn't really matter , but the police are bound to think it it bit fishy, and one doesn't want to be mixed up in anything — I mean, in my position one has to be somewhat circumspect.'
'You needn't worry .' said Antonia. 'It's me they think fishy, I was there.'
'Tony, I simply don't understand. Why were you there? What in the world can have taken you there? You haven't been on speaking terms with Vereker for months, and then you dash off to Riverside Cottage for the week-end - it doesn't seem to me to make sense!'
'Yes, it does. Arnold wrote me a stinking letter from the office on Saturday morning, and I got it that day. I went down to tackle him about it.'
'Ah, you darling!' Mesurier said, laying his hand in hers, and pressing it. 'You needn't tell me. He wrote something libellous about me. I can just imagine it! But you shouldn't have done it, my sweet. I can look after myself.'
'Yes, I daresay you can,' answered Antonio, 'but I wasn't going to have Arnold spreading lies about you all the same.'
'Darling! What did he tell you?'
'He didn't tell me anything specific, because I never saw him. He wrote a few pages of drivel, all about how I should very soon know the sort of blackguard I meant to marry, and how you were a skunk, and a thief, and various other things like that.'
'Gosh, he was a swine!' Mesurier exclaimed, flushing. 'He realised, of course, that in another year he couldn't prevent our marriage, so he tried to blacken me to you. Have you got that letter?'
'No, I burned it. I thought it would be safer.'
He looked at her intently. 'You mean in case the police got hold of it? You aren't keeping anything back, are you, darling? If Vereker made any definite accusation I wish you'd tell me.'
'He didn't.' Antonio got off the table as Murgatroyd came into the studio, and glanced towards her brother. 'If you've finished quarrelling, supper's ready.' She thought it over, and added conscientiously: 'And if you haven't, it still is.'
Kenneth came towards the table. 'I've made her cross again, haven't I, my lovely? Where's the oil and vinegar?'
'I'm not cross,' Violent said in a sad voice. 'Only rather hurt.'
'My adored!' he said contritely, but with a gleam of his impish smile.
'Yes, that's all very well,' said Violet, taking her place at the table, 'but I sometimes think you only care about my good looks.'
He flashed his brilliant, half-laughing, half-earnest glance at her. 'I worship your good looks,' he said.
'Thank you,' replied Violet dryly.
'She isn't really so good-looking,' observed Antonio, wrestling with the joints of a cold fowl. 'Her eyes are set a bit too far apart, for one thing, and I don't know if you've noticed, but one side of her face isn't as good as the other.'
'But look at that lovely line of the jaw!' Kenneth said, dropping the wooden salad spoon, and tracing the line in the air with his thumb.
'When you've quite finished, both of you!' Violet protested. She looked provocatively at Mesurier, seated opposite to her, and said: 'Aren't they awful? Don't you think we're frightfully brave to marry them?'
He responded in kind, and they kept up an interchange of light badinage throughout the meal. Attempts to draw the other two into the conversation were not very successful. Kenneth had a glowering look on his face, which Violet could always conjure up by flirting with another man; and Antonia, when appealed to by Violet to assure Mesurier that she didn't look marvellous in red, but, on the contrary, positively haggish, replied with such disastrous frankness that the topic broke off like a snapped thread.
'You're an artist, aren't you?' said Rudolph hastily. 'No,' said Kenneth.
'Well, I may not be an artist as you highbrows understand it
'No,' said Antonia.
He gave an uncertain laugh. 'Yes, you did. Over the telephone. You've forgotten. But you see the position, don't you?. Of course, it doesn't really matter , but the police are bound to think it it bit fishy, and one doesn't want to be mixed up in anything — I mean, in my position one has to be somewhat circumspect.'
'You needn't worry .' said Antonia. 'It's me they think fishy, I was there.'
'Tony, I simply don't understand. Why were you there? What in the world can have taken you there? You haven't been on speaking terms with Vereker for months, and then you dash off to Riverside Cottage for the week-end - it doesn't seem to me to make sense!'
'Yes, it does. Arnold wrote me a stinking letter from the office on Saturday morning, and I got it that day. I went down to tackle him about it.'
'Ah, you darling!' Mesurier said, laying his hand in hers, and pressing it. 'You needn't tell me. He wrote something libellous about me. I can just imagine it! But you shouldn't have done it, my sweet. I can look after myself.'
'Yes, I daresay you can,' answered Antonio, 'but I wasn't going to have Arnold spreading lies about you all the same.'
'Darling! What did he tell you?'
'He didn't tell me anything specific, because I never saw him. He wrote a few pages of drivel, all about how I should very soon know the sort of blackguard I meant to marry, and how you were a skunk, and a thief, and various other things like that.'
'Gosh, he was a swine!' Mesurier exclaimed, flushing. 'He realised, of course, that in another year he couldn't prevent our marriage, so he tried to blacken me to you. Have you got that letter?'
'No, I burned it. I thought it would be safer.'
He looked at her intently. 'You mean in case the police got hold of it? You aren't keeping anything back, are you, darling? If Vereker made any definite accusation I wish you'd tell me.'
'He didn't.' Antonio got off the table as Murgatroyd came into the studio, and glanced towards her brother. 'If you've finished quarrelling, supper's ready.' She thought it over, and added conscientiously: 'And if you haven't, it still is.'
Kenneth came towards the table. 'I've made her cross again, haven't I, my lovely? Where's the oil and vinegar?'
'I'm not cross,' Violent said in a sad voice. 'Only rather hurt.'
'My adored!' he said contritely, but with a gleam of his impish smile.
'Yes, that's all very well,' said Violet, taking her place at the table, 'but I sometimes think you only care about my good looks.'
He flashed his brilliant, half-laughing, half-earnest glance at her. 'I worship your good looks,' he said.
'Thank you,' replied Violet dryly.
'She isn't really so good-looking,' observed Antonio, wrestling with the joints of a cold fowl. 'Her eyes are set a bit too far apart, for one thing, and I don't know if you've noticed, but one side of her face isn't as good as the other.'
'But look at that lovely line of the jaw!' Kenneth said, dropping the wooden salad spoon, and tracing the line in the air with his thumb.
'When you've quite finished, both of you!' Violet protested. She looked provocatively at Mesurier, seated opposite to her, and said: 'Aren't they awful? Don't you think we're frightfully brave to marry them?'
He responded in kind, and they kept up an interchange of light badinage throughout the meal. Attempts to draw the other two into the conversation were not very successful. Kenneth had a glowering look on his face, which Violet could always conjure up by flirting with another man; and Antonia, when appealed to by Violet to assure Mesurier that she didn't look marvellous in red, but, on the contrary, positively haggish, replied with such disastrous frankness that the topic broke off like a snapped thread.
'You're an artist, aren't you?' said Rudolph hastily. 'No,' said Kenneth.
'Well, I may not be an artist as you highbrows understand it
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