“You are too vain, Elizabeth,” her father declared. “You have been spoilt. There are a few people in the world whom even you might fail to charm. No doubt this young man is one of them.”
She sighed gently.
“It really does seem,” she admitted, “as though you were right, but we shall see. By-the-bye, hadn't you better go? The five minutes are nearly up.”
He came over to her side, his hat and gloves in his hand, prepared for departure.
“Will you tell me, upon your honor, Elizabeth,” he begged, “that there is no other reason for your interest? That you are not engaged in any fresh schemes of which I know nothing? Things are bad enough as they are. I cannot sleep, I cannot rest, for thinking of our position. If I thought that you had any fresh plans on hand—”
She flicked the ash from her cigarette and checked him with a little gesture.
“He knows where Beatrice is,” she remarked thoughtfully, “and I can't get him to tell me. There is nothing beyond—absolutely nothing.”...
When Tavernake was announced, Elizabeth was still smoking, sitting in an easy-chair and looking into the fire. Something in her attitude, the droop of her head as it rested upon her fingers, reminded him suddenly of Beatrice. He showed no other emotion than a sudden pause in his walk across the room. Even that, however, in a person whose machinelike attitude towards her provoked her resentment, was noticeable.
“Good morning, my friend!” she said pleasantly. “You have brought me the fresh list?”
“Unfortunately, no, madam,” Tavernake answered. “I have called simply to announce that I am not able to be of any further assistance to you in the matter.”