Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/292



was characteristically his lazy, lounging self now, hands—ostensibly, of course, he seemed to have hands—thrust deep into his pockets, a courteous, nonchalant smile upon his lips, his face turned so that the livid scar that disfigured one cheek was invisible at the angle. He lounged up to Jessica, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the party.

“Having a party, I see," he remarked pleasantly. “Good idea; I feel rather hungry myself.” She shrank back from him, not daring to meet his eyes, and yet unable to move a step back. She said nothing; just stood there, the pallor of her cheeks contrasting piteously with the splendor of her hair, her eyes gone dead of a sudden.

“You remember you have an appointment with me to-day,” Teck reminded her. “It’s something of a surprise to see you here, you know. I thought⸺”

“You thought she was waiting for you, safely caught in her cottage in the woods, didn’t you, Iggy?” said Val, stepping in between them. With a grateful glance at Val, Jessica stepped aside, glad to have someone else distract Teck’s attention.

“What is that to you?” asked Teck maliciously, still courteous, still mild and smiling. “Miss Pomeroy’s movements⸺”

“Miss Pomeroy’s movements interest me, Iggy. Rh