"Later on, she said," the Jewess replied.
"How full of caprice these young things are!" interjected Miss Mallowcoid. "Why, she did not even wish us good-day!"
"The truth is," said Mrs. Delarayne, "Cleo hates being ill, and probably wished to avoid being asked questions."
"Oh, how natural that is!" Mrs. Tribe observed, glancing half fearfully at Miss Mallowcoid.
"You've made this place look very pretty," said Sir Joseph, smiling unctuously at his hostess; "charming, charming! A perfect setting for a—for a precious——"
"Here, you want some refreshment," snapped Miss Mallowcoid gruffly. "Edith, where's Sir Joseph's cup?"
Sir Joseph laughed a little boisterously, and the tennis players arrived.
"Where's Cleo?" was Leonetta's first question. She looked hot and excited, but extremely happy.
Miss Mallowcoid explained that Cleo was in one of her "precious" moods, as she put it. She had never been a great favourite with her nieces, and since the fuel of affection is so largely a distillation of vanity, she did not feel much love towards them. Her remark, however, succeeded in making Mrs. Delarayne fill Sir Joseph's saucer with tea.
"That's not kind," said the widow, glaring first at her sister and then at Denis. "Cleo, I'm afraid, is not very well."