Leigh suddenly found his tongue. He talked eagerly of the play to Finch, criticized Mr. Brett's directing of it, rehearsed one of his own important speeches, appealing to Finch for criticism.
"Come, Finch," he said, at last, determined to show off his friend before his sister, "let's do our scene together where you come to the house at night, after I've killed Witherow. Have you got your whistle here?"
"Oh no. I can't possibly. I'd feel a frightful fool."
"If it's because of Ada, I'll send her away."
"I wish you would do it to please me," said Ada. "I should love to see it."
"She's likely to fly into a passion if she doesn't get what she wants. Aren't you, Ada?" asked her brother.
"You can't make me believe that," said Finch.
"Just the same she's a very determined young person, so you may as well give in. Wait, I know what we need to loosen things up. A whisky and soda. That wine at dinner was native and there's simply nothing to it but gas on the stomach. Come along to the dining-room. You won't want anything, will you, Ada?"
"No, thanks. I'll just wait here."
In the dining-room Leigh said: "I don't think we need whisky, Finch. Nothing so common. A nice little crème de menthe or Benedictine, eh? I said whisky before Ada merely to put her off the scent; she doesn't like it. But she does like liqueurs, and I don't think they're good for a young girl, do you? I really have to look after Ada, you know, my father being dead. What will you have?"
"Oh, I don't care." Finch stared at the glittering array of glasses in the cabinet Leigh opened.
"Benedictine, then. We'll both have Benedictine. Isn't the colour of it glorious? I want you to come and stay the week of the play with me, Finch. You can't possibly go home at night after the performance." At that moment he definitely made up his mind to take young Whiteoak into his intimate circle, to make him his most intimate friend. He perceived his sister's intense interest in him. She too was sensitive to the inner things
