Antony was still in bed. Bill walked across to wake him up, and then stopped rigid, and his heart thumped against his ribs. There was somebody else in the room.
"All right, Bill," said a whispering voice, and Antony stepped out from the curtains.
Bill gazed at him without saying anything.
"Rather good, isn't it?" said Antony, coming closer and pointing to the bed. "Come on; the sooner we get out now, the better."
He led the way out of the window, the silent Bill following him. They reached the ground safely and noiselessly, went quickly across the lawn and so, over the fence, into the park. It was not until they were out of sight of the house that Bill felt it safe to speak.
"I quite thought it was you in bed," he said.
"I hoped you would. I shall be rather disappointed now if Cayley doesn't call again. It's a pity to waste it."
"He came all right just now?"
"Oh, rather. What about you?"
Bill explained his feelings picturesquely.
"There wouldn't have been much point in his killing you," said Antony prosaically. "Besides being too risky."
"Oh!" said Bill. And then, "I had rather hoped that it was his love for me which restrained him."
Antony laughed.
