“Because,” I went on, “if so, I believe if that is always the beginning—I don’t want any beginnings—I haven’t the slightest desire to kiss any one—I should simply hate it.”
Mr. Carruthers laughed. “Oh! you are only a baby child after all!” he said.
This annoyed me. I got up with great dignity. “Tea will be ready in the white drawing-room,” I said stiffly, and walked towards my bedroom door.
He came after me.
“Send your maid away, and let us have it up here,” he said. “I like this room.”
But I was not to be appeased thus easily, and deliberately called Véronique and gave her fresh directions.
“Poor old Mr. Barton will be feeling so lonely,” I said, as I went out into the passage. “I am going to see that he has a nice tea,” and I looked back at Mr. Carruthers over my shoulder. Of course he followed me and we went together down the stairs.
In the hall a footman with a telegram met us. Mr. Carruthers tore it open impatiently. Then he looked quite annoyed.
“I hope you won’t mind,” he said, “but a friend of mine, Lord Robert Vavasour is arriving this afternoon—he is a—er—great judge of pictures. I forgot I asked him to come down and look at them, it clean went out of my head.”
I told him he was host; and why should I object to what guests he had.