This was a very injudicious speech, but then Maude was nearly always injudicious.
"I don't annoy women," said her stepson severely; "and I am not 'men.' I am a partner of the firm that has lost her father's services—if we have lost them."
"Oh, yes; he was killed on the spot—all smashed to little bits."
"I would merely say a word—of sympathy, you know."
"Don't do it, Tony; it would be most improper. If you attempt to scrape acquaintance with her I'll never bring you here again. Mary would blame me, and make a dreadful fuss."
"Mary is so much in the habit of making a fuss, isn't she?"
"I assure you she would. You see she wouldn't let you come yesterday. You can make your condolences to the brother in the office."
So Anthony did not say anything to Miss Liddon, except "Thank you," in a very gentle tone. As she approached with the tea and scones, he rose and stood—her little head was not much above his elbow—and he took the tray from her hands. The unwonted courtesy brought a flush to Jenny's pale cheeks—they were pale with the weariness of being on her feet all day—and Mrs. Churchill had her first suspicion that the young person was pretty. She determined that she would not bring Tony to the tea-room again.
Nevertheless, being there, and very comfortable, she would have sat on with him indefinitely, had he allowed it; but he would not allow it. Her meal finished, she was taking the place and time of paying clients, as several others were doing, causing Jenny to wonder if she had not made a mistake in providing cushioned chairs. He proposed to call at the office for his father, and drive the old gentleman home—an attention from his charming wife that always gratified him; and Maude did not see her way to object. They returned to Toorak quite early, and Tony lit a pipe and went off with his sister for a saunter in the shrubberies (to get the history of the Liddons up to date), while his stepmother was hastily getting into a yellow satin tea-gown with a view to an ante-dinner tête-à-tête on her own account.