“Because, if I were a marrying woman, which I’m not, I shouldn’t hesitate between you and Captain Naylor, not for a minute.”

“You’d jump at me?”

Laughing again, his eyes had now a schoolboy merriment in them, Mary rose from the big chair.  “At him, if I’m not being impolite, Mr. Beaumaroy.”

They stood face to face.  For the first time for several years—­Mary’s girlhood had not been altogether empty of sentimental episodes—­she blushed under a man’s glance, because it was a man’s.  At this event, of which she was acutely conscious and at which she was intensely irritated, she drew herself up, with an attempt to return to her strictly professional manner.

“I don’t find you the least impolite, Dr. Arkroyd,” said Beaumaroy.

It was impudent, yet gay, dexterous, and elusive enough to avoid reproof.  With no more than a little shake of her head and a light yet embarrassed laugh, Mary moved toward the door, her way lying between the table and an old oak sideboard, which stood against the wall.  Some plates, knives, and other articles of the table lay strewn, none too tidily, about it.  Beaumaroy followed her, smiling complacently, his hands in his pockets.

Suddenly Mary came to a stop and pointed with her finger at the sideboard, turning her face towards her companion.  At the same instant Beaumaroy’s right hand shot out from his pocket towards the sideboard, as though to snatch up something from it.  Then he drew the hand as swiftly back again; but his eyes watched Mary’s with an alert and suspicious gaze.  That was for a second only; then his face resumed its amused and nonchalant expression.  But the movement of the hand and the look of the eyes had not escaped Mary’s attention; her voice betrayed some surprise as she said: 

“It’s only that I just happened to notice that combination knife-and-fork lying there, and I wondered who—­”

The article in question lay among some half-dozen ordinary knives and forks.  It was of a kind quite familiar to Doctor Mary from her hospital experience, a fork on one side, a knife-blade on the other; an implement made for people who could command the use of only one hand.

“Surely you’ve noticed my hand?” He drew his right hand again from the pocket to which he had so quickly returned it.  “I used to use that in hospital, when I was bandaged up.  But that’s a long while ago now, and I can’t think why Hooper’s left it lying there.”

The account was plausible, and entirely the same might now be said of his face and manner.  But Mary had seen the dart of his hand and the sudden alertness in his eyes.  Her own rested on him for a moment with inquiry, for the first time with a hint of distrust.  “I see!” she murmured vaguely, and, turning away from him, pursued her way to the door.  Beaumaroy followed her with a queer smile on his lips; he shrugged his shoulders once, very slightly.