The footman entered with the tea-tray, and Austin Ambrose, instead of answering, said:
"No sugar in mine, please."
She poured him out a cup with not too carefully concealed impatience, and as he rose and fetched it, taking it leisurely back to his chair, she beat a tattoo on the ground with her small feet.
"How tiresomely slow you can be when you like," she said. "I believe you do it to—to exasperate me."
"Why should I exasperate you?" he responded calmly, coolly. "Are you angry with me because I would not speak before the women who were with us in the park, or before the servant here; it is a question which of them would chatter most."
"Oh, you are right, of course. You always are," she said. "That makes it so annoying. But there are no women or servants here now, and you can speak freely, and—and at once. Did you see Blair?"
"I had just left him when I met you," he answered.
"Well?" she said, and her eyes sought his face eagerly, impatiently. "Where has he been?"
"To Leyton Court," he replied.