"It's such utter nonsense, don't you know," went on Mrs. Taunton, evidently convinced that the worst was over with me. "I made notes, just for practice. He--the adept, or whatever he was--was a lovely piece of mahogany, with perfectly stunning eyes. I memorized one of my notes. The dear little brownie said--just listen to this, Caroline: 'The Hindu conception of reincarnation embraces all existence--gods, men, animals, plants, minerals. It is believed that everything migrates, from Buddha down to inert matter. Buddha himself was born an ascetic eighty-three times, a monarch fifty-eight times, the soul of a tree forty-three times, and many other times as an ape, deer, lion, snipe, chicken, eagle, serpent, pig, frog--four hundred times in all!' Isn't it all perfectly silly? Good gracious, Caroline, what is the matter with you? Are you faint?"
"Just a bit rocky," I found sufficient nerve to say. "Are you quite sure--ah--my dear--that he said pigs--and--and--frogs?"
Mrs. Taunton caught her breath, as if she struggled to swallow her amazement.
"You ought to be in bed, Caroline," she said, severely. "If you could get to sleep, my dear--"
"Et tu, Brute!" I murmured, with sardonic playfulness. "Look here--ah--my dear! You find a change in your Caroline, eh? You have suspected me of drinking, and now you imply that I need sleep. I swear that the next person who hints that I'm not up for all day shall hear something to--ah--her disadvantage."
Such talk was madness. Mrs. Taunton very naturally resented my childish ultimatum. She arose from her chair with a cool, calm dignity that shocked me like a cold shower-bath.
"I regret, Caroline, that I find my patience exhausted," she remarked, more in sadness than in wrath, transfixing me with her pale-gray eyes. "I shall leave you now, but not in anger. I can see, plainly enough, that you are not yourself."
"Don't you dare to say that in public--ah--Mrs. Taunton," I cried, hotly, fearful that, as it was, Jones might have overheard her remark. Reason assured me that her words were used figuratively, but the undeniable fact that she had hit the target and rung the bell drove me to desperation. Mrs. Taunton gazed at me for a moment in mingled scorn and astonishment, and then swept from the dining-room with head high in air and a rustle of skirts that seemed to sweep Caroline into outer darkness.
The next thing that I remember, as the flamboyant romancers remark, was an entrance even more theatrical than Mrs. Taunton's exit. Jones, impressing my errant fancy as Nemesis in the semblance of an imported butler, strode into the room bearing a tray upon which rested a coffee-pot, the aroma from which stirred hope in my heart. Much as I detested Jones, I welcomed the stimulant that he carried toward me. If Mrs. Taunton's disappearance surprised him, he succeeded in suppressing any outward exhibition of emotion.
Realizing for the moment that my fear of the man was unreasonable, I summoned common sense to my aid and said: