“Oh, poor fellow!” thought Lexy. “Poor lonely fellow! It’s such a wonderful thing for him to find his sister—some one of his own. I only hope she’s as nice as she looks.”
This thought caused her to turn toward her hostess again. She was beautiful, and in a gentle and gracious fashion, and yet—
“I don’t know,” thought Lexy. “There’s something—she doesn’t look ill—perhaps she’s just lackadaisical; but certainly she’s not simple and easy to understand. She must know about Caroline Enderby. The thing is, would she help me, or—”
Or would Mrs. Quelton also be her enemy? Lost in her own thought, Lexy sat silent. She had, indeed, certain grave faults in social deportment. The head mistress of the finishing school she had attended had often said to her:
“Alexandra, it is absolutely inexcusable to give way to moods in the company of other people!”
In theory Lexy admitted that this was true, but it made no difference. If she didn’t feel inclined to talk, she didn’t talk. It was so this afternoon. She merely answered when she was spoken to—which was not often, for Dr. Quelton was asking his brother-in-law questions about India, and Mrs. Quelton seemed no more desirous to talk than Lexy was. What is more, Lexy felt certain that the doctor’s wife was not listening to the talk between the two men, but, like herself, was thinking her own thoughts.
The parlor maid wheeled the tea cart in, and Mrs. Quelton roused herself to pour the tea and to make polite inquiries, in her plaintive tone, as to what her guests wanted in the way of cream and sugar. The maid vanished again, and Dr. Quelton passed about the cups and plates.
“It’s China tea,” he observed. “I import it myself. It has quite a distinctive flavor, I think.”
Captain Grey praised it, and Lexy herself found it very agreeable. She sipped it, staring into the fire, glad to be let alone. Behind her she could hear Captain Grey talking about the Ceylon tea plantations. His voice sounded so pathetic!
“Another cup, Miss Moran?” asked Mrs. Quelton.