However, he knew what Portlaw didn’t know, that Virginia would never accept that invitation, and that neither Wayward nor Constance Palliser would remain one day under the roof that harboured the sister of Louis Malcourt.

CHAPTER XXV

A CONFERENCE

When Malcourt arrived at Luckless Lake Sunday evening he found Portlaw hunched up in an arm-chair, all alone in the living-room, although the hour was still early.

“Where’s your very agreeable house-party?” he inquired, looking about the empty room and hall with an air of troubled surprise.

“Gone to bed,” replied Portlaw irritably,—­“what’s left of ’em.”  And he continued reading “The Pink ’Un.”

“Really!” said Malcourt in polite concern.

“Yes, really!” snapped Portlaw.  “Mrs. Ascott went to Pride’s and took Wayward and Constance Palliser; that was Friday.  And Gray and Cecile joined them yesterday.  It’s been a horrible house-party; nobody had any use for anybody else and it has rained every day and—­and—­to be plain with you, Louis, nobody is enchanted with your relatives and that’s the unpleasant truth!”

“I don’t blame anybody,” returned Malcourt sincerely, removing his driving-gloves and shaking off his wet box-coat.  “Why, I can scarcely stand them myself, William.  Where are they?”

“In the west wing of your house—­preparing to remain indefinitely.”

“Dear, dear!” exclaimed Malcourt.  “What on earth shall we do?” And he peered sideways at Portlaw with his tongue in his cheek.

“Do? I don’t know.  Why the devil did you suggest that they stop at your house?”

“Because, William, curious as it may seem, I had a sort of weak-minded curiosity to see my sister once more.”  He walked over to the table, took a cigarette and lighted it, then stood regarding the burning match in his fingers.  “She’s the last of the family; I’ll probably never see her again—­”

“She appears to be in excellent health,” remarked Portlaw viciously.

“So am I; but—­” He shrugged and tossed the embers of the match onto the hearth.

“But what?”

“Well, I’m going to take a vacation pretty soon—­a sort of voyage, and a devilish long one, William.  That’s why I wanted to see her again.”

“You mean to tell me you are going away?” demanded the other indignantly.

Malcourt laughed.  “Oh, yes.  I planned it long ago—­one morning toward daybreak years ago....  A—­a relative of mine started on the same voyage rather unexpectedly....  I’ve heard very often from him since; I’m curious to try it, too—­when he makes up his mind to invite me—­”

“When are you starting?” interrupted Portlaw, disgusted.

“Oh, not for a while, I think.  I won’t embarrass you; I’ll leave everything in ship-shape—­”

“Where are you going?—­dammit!”

Malcourt looked at him humorously, head on one side.  “I am not perfectly sure, dear friend.  I hate to know all about a thing before I do it.  Otherwise there’s no sporting interest in it.”