Lydia shrugged her shoulders, and Mr. Bulteel said nervously and kindly:
“They will bring you some more, no doubt.”
Everybody knew that any such concession to a late arrival was most unlikely, and the effect produced was proportionate when the Greek gentleman, on the arrival of Hector Bulteel’s belated cup and saucer, turned to the maid who had brought them in:
“This young lady will want some tea and bread-and-butter, also.”
Irene looked astounded.
The Greek gentleman fixed upon her the steady, sardonic gaze of his dark eyes.
“If you please,” he said, with the unctuous sibilance that was the only accent marring the perfection of his English speech.
“I’ll see what the manageress says,” gasped Irene, and they heard her clattering down the stairs.
The boarders exchanged glances, of which Lydia was perfectly aware, and which did not altogether displease her. She knew that they were all waiting curiously to see the outcome of Irene’s mission, and the Greek’s reception of its almost certain failure. Miss Nettleship had long ago explained to Lydia that she dared not make any difference in her treatment of the boarders.
“You quite understand how it is, dear, I know. The boarders know very well that your aunt is a friend of mine, and so they’re sort of on the look-out for any favouring. And it wouldn’t do at all, would it, to have any talk made? It would only be disagreeable for both of us—you know how it is, dear.”