He was laughing by this time, at his success rather than my discomfiture, but Tommy saw that I was making little distinction between the two and wisely led him away.
As I stepped upon the little island Echochee came down to meet me.
"How's your Lady?" I asked.
"You go see," she answered in a low voice, pointing to the open door.
As I entered the commodious living room Doloria looked up, but did not smile. She was reclining on a chaise-longue, beneath a shaded lamp whose rays still blended with the light of a dying afterglow. Her hunting costume had been discarded for a flimsy kind of an exquisite thing of blue—hardly a dress, although it had a lot of lace and seemed to fit her perfectly. It was open at the throat like some dresses, and the sleeves fell away from her arms; but I had seen one instinctive movement she made to pull it closer which might have indicated embarrassment.
"I've come with Monsieur's permission," I said, bowing over her hand.
"With Monsieur's permission," she repeated after me. "We seem to do nothing but with Monsieur's permission."
I saw that she was nervous and very much upset, so replied as gently as I could:
"But this visit involved my promise, otherwise I wouldn't have asked him. I want to tell you that it's all right about the yacht—your sending for her, I mean. She'll be on hand to-morrow."
"Thanks, Chancellor." Her tone had changed to one of complete weariness. "Now leave me, please."