like a wizened monkey, with dyed hair and an eyeglass, it was too comic!—I only told you because you said the sentence ‘begin by you,’ and I wanted to know if it was the same thing.”

Mr. Carruthers’ eyes had such a strange expression, puzzle and amusement, and something else. He came over close to me.

[43]

[43]

“Because,” I went on, “if so, I believe if that is always the beginning—I don’t want any beginnings—I haven’t the slightest desire to kiss any one—I should simply hate it.”

Mr. Carruthers laughed. “Oh! you are only a baby child after all!” he said.

This annoyed me. I got up with great dignity. “Tea will be ready in the white drawing-room,” I said stiffly, and walked towards my bedroom door.

He came after me.

“Send your maid away, and let us have it up here,” he said. “I like this room.”

But I was not to be appeased thus easily, and deliberately called Véronique and gave her fresh directions.

“Poor old Mr. Barton will be feeling so lonely,” I said, as I went out into the passage. “I am going to see that he has a nice tea,” and I looked back at Mr. Carruthers over my shoulder. Of course he followed me and we went together down the stairs.

In the hall a footman with a telegram met[44] us. Mr. Carruthers tore it open impatiently. Then he looked quite annoyed.

[44]

“I hope you won’t mind,” he said, “but a friend of mine, Lord Robert Vavasour is arriving this afternoon—he is a—er—great judge of pictures. I forgot I asked him to come down and look at them, it clean went out of my head.”

I told him he was host; and why should I object to what guests he had.

“Besides, I am going myself to-morrow,” I said, “if Véronique can get the packing done.”

“Nonsense—how can I make you understand that I do not mean to let you go at all.”

I did not answer—only looked at him defiantly.

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