"It's no joke to have
aroused an energy like the Rajah's, and I can see myself worked to a
shadow. Please forgive my get-up, Miss Cary, but this isn't an
official call. I only wanted to fetch Stafford."
"I'm afraid you can't," Mrs. Cary put in. "We have engaged the poor
exhausted man to tea, and you are strictly forbidden to worry him with
your tiresome business. You can stop, too, if you promise not to
bother."
Travers, who had as a rule an equally amiable smile for every one,
remained unexpectedly serious.
"I am awfully sorry," he said, hesitating. "Perhaps it would do
another time."
"What is it about?" Stafford asked. "Will it take long?"
"As far as I am concerned, only a few minutes."
There was a significance in the tone of Travers' answer which passed
unnoticed. Stafford rose lazily to his feet.
"Perhaps you'll give us the run of your garden for just so long, Mrs.
Cary?" he said. "I'm not going to let Travers cheat me out of my
promised cup of tea. Come on, my dear fellow. I'm ready for the
worst."
The two men went down the verandah steps, and Mrs. Cary and her
daughter remained alone. Beatrice returned at once to her
contemplation of the fashion-plates, her attitude enforcing silence
upon the elder woman, who stood by the round polished table nervously
arranging the flowers. Evidently she had something to say, but for
once had not the courage to say it. At last, with one of those
determined gestures with which irresolute people strive to stiffen
their wavering wills, she pushed the flowers on one side, and came and
sat directly opposite Beatrice.
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