Five minutes afterwards, the three men trooped into the pretty drawing-room with its subdued, shaded lights. Norah was sitting at a small table, on which were set the coffee equipage with an assortment of liqueurs. Decidedly, the Burtons knew how to do things when they received guests.
The "bounder" brother, as Hugh always called him to himself, had drunk very heavily at dinner of every wine: hock, burgundy and champagne. But evidently he could carry a big quantity. It would take more than a small dinner-party like this to knock him over. When he entered the drawing-room his mien was as subdued as when he had first received his visitors.
They drank their coffee round the fair-sized octagonal table, and then they broke up. Miss Burton retired to a Chesterfield, whither Pom-fret followed her, as he was bound to do.
Burton bustled out of the room, and returned with a huge box of expensive cigars. He offered the box to Hugh, who took one with a deprecating look at the young hostess.
"We dare not, Miss Burton. Think of your curtains in the morning."
"Don't trouble, Captain Murchison," she said, with her charming smile. "The curtains have to take what comes in this house. George doesn't often sit in this room, but when he does he always smokes cigars. I told you this was Liberty Hall, you know."
The box was offered to Pomfret, who took one. "Do you smoke, Miss Burton?" he asked.
"Once in a blue moon. I think I will have one to-night, as a little treat. It is terribly tempting, when I see all you men smoking." The enamoured Pomfret fetched her a cigarette, hovered over her with a match, till it was properly lighted, and settled himself again on the Chesterfield. If that silly old Hugh didn't butt in, he was going to have a nice little chat with this charming girl, who had played the young hostess to such perfection.
But Hugh was safely out of the way. Burton had piloted him to a comfortable easy-chair at the extreme end of the drawing-room, and these two antipathetic persons were apparently engaged in an interesting conversation. Anyway, Murchison's laugh rang out frequently.
Pomfret, it must be confessed, was not very great at conversation. If the ball were opened, he could set it rolling, but he lacked initiative. He looked at Miss Burton with admiring eyes, but although he had got her comfortably to himself on that convenient Chesterfield, he could think of nothing to say to her.