XIIIGregory Porlock came into the billiard-room shepherding the Mastermans.
“Well, now, here we are. And I’m going to carry Moira off. Just finished a game? Who won?”
Moira Lane laughed.
“Oh, I’m not in Justin’s class—he’s way up, practically out of sight.”
“Ah, then he can take Masterman on, and Miss Masterman can see fair play. We’ll come back presently.”
He took her off to the study, a comfortable country room with book-lined walls, warmly coloured rugs, and deep brown leather chairs—a room that had been used and lived in. Granted that Gregory Porlock had taken the house furnished, he might be given the credit for his choice. He fitted the room too—fresh healthy skin, clear eyes, good country tweeds which had been worn in country weather. There was a tray of cocktails on the table,
