Usually when she adopted this method she came upon the trivial causes in which apprehension was born, but now she was puzzled to find that a solution was denied her. Her letters of the morning had been pleasant, neither the house nor the servants had given her any trouble. She was well herself, and though she knew John had a little money trouble, since his unfortunate speculation in Roumanian gold shares, and she half suspected that he had had to borrow money to make good his losses, yet his prospects were so excellent and the success of his last book so promising that she, probably seeing with a clearer vision the unimportance of those money worries, was less concerned about the problem than he.
“You will have your coffee in the study, I suppose,” said Grace, “and I know you'll excuse me; I have to see Mrs. Chandler on the mundane subject of laundry.”
She favoured Kara with a little nod as she left the room and touched John's shoulder lightly with her hand in passing.
Kara's eyes followed her graceful figure until she was out of view, then:
“I want to see you, Kara,” said John Lexman, “if you will give me five minutes.”
“You can have five hours, if you like,” said the other, easily.
They went into the study together; the maid brought the coffee and liqueur, and placed them on a little table near the fire and disappeared.
For a time the conversation was general. Kara, who was a frank admirer of the comfort of the room and who lamented his own inability to secure with money the cosiness which John had obtained at little cost, went on a foraging expedition whilst his host applied himself to a proof which needed correcting.
“I suppose it is impossible for you to have electric light here,” Kara asked.
“Quite,” replied the other.