Miss Levering pushed towards her one of the welcoming great easy-chairs that stood holding out cool arms and a lap of roses. The tired visitor, with her dusty clothes and brusque manner, sat down without relaxing to the luxurious invitation. Her stiffly maintained attitude and direct look said as plain as print, Now what excuse have you to offer for asking me to come here? It may have been recollection of Mrs. Fox-Moore's fear of 'the thin end of the wedge' that made Miss Levering smile as she said—
'Yes, I've been expecting you for the last half hour, but it's very good of you to come at all.'
Miss Claxton looked as if she quite agreed.
'You'll have some tea?' Miss Levering was moving towards the bell.
'No, I've had my tea.'
The queer sound of 'my' tea connoting so much else! The hostess subsided on to the sofa.
'I heard you speak the other day as I told you in my note. But all the same I came away with several unanswered questions—questions that I wanted to put to you quietly. As I wrote you, I am not what you would call a convert. I've only got as far as the inquiry stage.'
Miss Claxton waited.
'Still, if I take up your time, I ought not to let you be out of pocket by it.'