"It's beneath me, I acknowledge," I went on, feverishly, making an effort to eat a croquette between sentences. "A butler's merely a necessary piece of movable furniture, and should--ah--not arouse a feeling of antagonism. But Jones has got an eye to--ah--induce intoxication."
"Caroline," queried Mrs. Taunton, solemnly, "have you--forgive me, my dear, for the question--have you been taking anything?"
"A fair exchange is no robbery," I remarked, impulsively, in my own defense, but Mrs. Taunton's face assured me that I had spoken irrelevantly.
"I should advise a cup of black coffee, Caroline," said my guest, in her iciest tone.
"We'll wait a bit, if you don't mind," I ventured to suggest. "No coffee without Jones. I'm not quite up to Jones at this moment--er--my dear."
Mrs. Taunton held my gaze to hers, and her light-gray eyes chilled me. It was evident that little Van Tromp's sister had no poetical nonsense in her make-up. Practical, obstinate, strong-willed she seemed to be, as she endeavored to solve from Caroline's beautiful eyes the mystery of my eccentric demeanor.
"Your sudden and inexplicable aversion to your butler, Caroline," remarked my guest, presently, apparently desirous of soothing my nerves by a poultice of gossip, "reminds me of the lecture upon Buddhism that I heard yesterday morning. An adept from India--Yamama, I think, is his name--talked to us, you know, about our Western blindness, as he called it, to the marvels of soul-sensitiveness."
My fork rattled against my plate, and I gazed down in dismay at Caroline's trembling hand. Mrs. Taunton overlooked my agitation and continued:
"He was so entertaining! But it's all absurd, of course. Louise told me that you were going with her to hear him this morning."
"Yes?" I managed to gasp. "She--ah--Louise called me up by the 'phone. I couldn't get away, you see--ah--my dear."