down easily at her desk. “Did you have a good week?” she went on amiably.
“Oh, I suppose so.”
But it was the middle of the day before he had recovered sufficient detachment to talk to her about it. He never made any reference later to the copies he saw of Dane’s leader in other papers. Nor did Valerie mention them. She was above thinking that pin pricks serve any useful purpose in human relations.
A few evenings later she had to work in the office till nearly seven. Bob had left an hour before. When she entered the dining-room she saw there was no one at her table and only one man, a stranger, eating at that end of the room. She turned her head and saw that Dane was with Mac at the other end. To her surprise the big Irishman beckoned to her. As she approached his table she thought Dane’s unmoved face a bit of unnecessary tact. But as she smiled at him she was surprised to catch no answering glimmer of responsiveness in his miserable eyes. The look in them chilled her before she could think.
“Come and have some pheasant,” growled Mac hospitably. “I think you know Barrington.” But there was nothing significant in his tone to suggest that he suspected there was something between them.
“I do. Yes, I’d love to,” she said in one breath, trying to smile at Mac and look enquiringly at Dane at the same time. As she sat down opposite them her spirits rose a little at the sight of the steaming pheasants and the bottles of wine. As Michael brought extra service he smiled at her as if he were in a conspiracy with her.
She watched Mac carving deftly with his great red hands. She tried to appear as oblivious as he was of the frozen manner of the man beside him, but she wondered what on earth had happened to the gay spirit who had
