She had recovered her spirits, and she talked to him often in a half audible undertone, the familiarity of which gave him a curious pleasure.

Starling alone was silent and depressed.

He drank a good deal, but ate scarcely anything.

Every passing footstep upon the stairs outside alarmed him; every time voices were heard he stopped to listen.

Sabatini glanced towards him once with a scornful flash in his black eyes.
"One would imagine, my dear Starling, that you had committed a crime!" he exclaimed.
Starling raised his glass to his lips with shaking fingers, and drained its contents.
"I had too much champagne last night," he muttered.
There was a moment's silence.