Five o'clock had passed when they emerged upon the New England town's stolid main street. They walked beneath the venerable flanking trees toward the Maxineff villa, which surmounted a wooded continuation of the street.
In a high gray-and-white room they found Mrs. Maxineff. She touched a bell as she said in an odd manner of inflecting, 'But you are late!'
Moving to one end of the spindle-legged sofa, she made place at her side for Maxineff, and motioned Noakes to a chair near them.
'Ah, I see it: you will be a second Max—all science, all absence, and a woman waiting at home! Immolation, you call it?' she continued, her hands moving quickly among the appurtenances of the tea-table. 'That is what you prefer, my young Mr. Noakes.'
'I am under orders, you know, Mrs. Max,' said Noakes, with a deferential inclination of the head toward Maxineff.
A servant brought in buttered rusks, and served the men with tea.
'Orders! For orders do you permit circles about your eyes as dark as they themselves are? Then you are easily immolate!'
Over his cup Maxineff smiled encouragement to his wife.
'You are practical, my friend. Confess now, there is a reason for your—your application?'
Noakes's attitude was uncompromising. He placed his cup on the table before he spoke.