Marrineal's little style of game, is
it?" He spoke crudely, for the apparition of the girl was quite touching
in its youth, and delight, and candor of expression, whereas he had read
into Marrineal's long, handsome, and blandly mature face a touch of the
satyr. He resented the association.
"No; it isn't," replied Cressey promptly. "If it is, he's in the wrong
pew. Miss Raleigh is straight as they make 'em, from all I hear."
"She looks it," admitted Banneker.
"At that, she's in a rather sporty lot. Do you know that chap three
seats to her left?"
Banneker considered the diner, a round-faced, high-colored, youthful man
of perhaps thirty-five, with a roving and merry eye. "No," he answered.
"I never saw him before."
"That's Del Eyre," remarked Cressey casually, and appearing not to look
at Banneker.
"A friend of yours?" The indifference of the tone indicated to his
companion either that Banneker did not identify Delavan Eyre by his
marriage, or that he maintained extraordinary control over himself, or
that the queer, romantic stories of Io Welland's "passion in the desert"
were gross exaggerations. Cressey inclined to the latter belief.
"Not specially," he answered the question. "He belongs to a couple of my
clubs.
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