"Most delightful tea," said Demetrius, courteously.
"You compliment the decoction too highly. Tea on the Continent is like rain in the Sahara. I except Russia, of course," she ended, smiling.
"You will find us English in many ways, when you visit Moscow, madame."
Leah looked inquisitively at Aksakoff, who spoke, guessing that he was in possession of the truth, and wondering what he thought of the engagement. The man's face betrayed nothing, however, and her gaze travelled to Demetrius. He was sitting perfectly still, and his eyes looked dull, as though the fire of life was dwindling within. Meeting her smile, he roused himself with a jerk and an apology.
"I feel sleepy--the heat, no doubt," he murmured.
"I can't say that I feel scorching," said Askew, glancing through the window at a grey sky.
"You are used to the tropics; M. Demetrius is not," observed Aksakoff.
Joan laughed. "You remind me of a horrid story my brother told me. An old Anglo-Indian was being cremated at Woking, and said that it was the first time he had felt warm in England."
"A horrid story indeed," murmured Lady Jim, with her eyes on the expressionless face of Demetrius. "You shouldn't tell it, dear." Then she rose hurriedly: "Are you quite well, M. Demetrius?"
"Oh yes--quite;" the doctor's voice droned into an inarticulate mumble and his head fell forward.