" He sat back and
stared at the sea. He must go this day; he must invent some way of
leaving.
Then came the Machiavellian way; only, he managed as usual to execute
it in his blundering English style. Without warning he dropped his
racket, caught Kitty in his arms tightly and roughly, kissed her cheek,
rose, and strode swiftly across the courts, into the villa. It was
done. He could go now; he knew very well he had to go.
His subsequent actions were methodical enough; a shower, a thorough
rub-down, and then into his workaday clothes. He packed his trunk and
hand-luggage, overlooked nothing that was his, and went down into the
living-room where he knew he would find Killigrew with the morning
papers. He felt oddly light-headed; but he had no time to analyze the
cause.
"Good morning, Thomas," greeted the master of the house cordially.
"I am leaving, Mr. Killigrew. Will you be kind enough to let me have
the use of the motor to the station?"
"Leaving! What's happened? What's the matter? Young man, what the
devil's this about?"
"I am sorry, sir, but I have insulted Miss Killigrew.
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