"We won't be long," said Violet Weston, scuttling away on her high heels.
Mr. Keefe left with her and returned for a box of matches.
"I'll catch her easy," he said, with a blend of gloom and complacency in his voice. "The fine mover she'd be if it wasn't for those silly shoes she puts on because her feet are a bit out-size."
"All that planning for that fellow," observed Darby, looking after the hurrying pair.
CHAPTER II
It was considerably past five when Gheena Freyne coo-eed loudly towards the drawing-room window and followed the Australian call with a shriek for tea. Mrs. Freyne, promptly appearing on the door-step, observed placidly that she had not waited, and didn't they all think she was right?
Matilda Freyne was stoutly comely, possessed with a mild attractiveness which would never leave her. A quantity of shining red-gold hair, which declined to get grey, was puffed in old-fashioned style above her placid forehead. She had mild blue eyes and a charming voice.
"One never knows when Gheena goes to the sea what she may get into," continued Gheena's mother, holding out a plump hand. "Now wasn't I right, Darby, not to wait?"
When Darby said "You were, Matilda," the word brought a look of dislike which forty-six years of possession had not toned down.
"But they will boil a new kettle, and the hot cakes may not be quite cold," said their hostess cheerfully. "Even if they are, as they were, rather underdone, it will not much matter. And where is Mrs. Weston?"