At least Grey had; Olivia, for the most part, listened without comment, unless the flush which waxed and waned should be considered comment, to the things he told her about herself and the many ways in which she affected him.
For William Roper the minutes dragged; he was eager to start briskly up the royal road to Fortune.

He was a slow smoker and he smoked a strong, slow-burning twist; but he had nearly emptied the screw of paper which held it before they came out of the door of the pavilion.
It was a still evening, but some drift of air had carried the rank smoke from William Roper's pipe into the glade, and it hung there.

Colonel Grey had not taken five steps before his nostrils were assailed by it.
"Damn!" he said softly.
"What's the matter ?" said Olivia.
She was too deeply absorbed in Grey for her senses to be alert, and the reek of William Roper's twist had reached her nostrils, but not her brain.
"There's some one about," he said.

"Can't you smell his vile tobacco ?" "Bother!" said Olivia softly, and she frowned.

They walked quietly on.
Grey was careful not to look about him with any show of earnestness, for there was nothing to be gained by letting the watcher know that they had perceived his presence.