"I'm afraid I can't," Virginia answered. "You see—er—I promised George."
"Perhaps he wouldn't mind if we arranged for him to meet us in about an hour; and we might all three have tea together at Rumpelmayer's."
Virginia looked embarrassed, which was unusual for her. "We didn't think of going into Mentone," she said. "We shall just stroll about, for the fact is, we've business to talk over."
"You seem to have had a great deal of business to talk over these last few days, you and Mr. Trent and Sir Roger. Would it be indiscreet to ask, dear child, if there has been any hitch about the purchase of your new toy? Oh, don't look vexed—your château, then?"
"No, there's been no hitch. What made you think that?"
"Well, business talks are so new for you. A little while ago you fled from the first hint of business. But now—you are very much changed these last few days, since we went to the château, Virginia. I've been wanting to speak to you about it. However, you are going out to walk, and I must wait."
Virginia met her eyes firmly; yet the violet gaze was not quite as frankly open and childlike as it used to be. "You needn't wait, if your shopping can," she said. "Do sit down. I dare say it may be twenty minutes before George comes for me. He's with Roger—somewhere."
"Yes, I saw them. Virginia, do you know, I've been rather unhappy for several days?"
"I didn't know. I'm very sorry. Is it anything I've done?"
"Yes and no." Kate did not sit down, but perched on the arm of a big cushioned chair between the writing-desk and the dressing-table. "You see, dear," she went on in her softest voice, to which she could give a pretty, tearful tremolo at will, "I'm in rather a peculiar position. You have been so sweet all this year and more that we've been together, that I suppose you've spoilt me. I've forgotten often that I'm only a paid chaperon, and have felt like a friend and confidante."