Geoffrey was discreetly silent. Remembering the hundreds of white flowers he himself had seen in this very room not so long ago, this speech staggered him. In a dazed kind of way he watched Mrs. May light a spirit lamp under a silver kettle, after which she excused herself on the score of fetching the famous tea.
Geoffrey picked up an album and turned the leaves over rapidly. There were soldiers, one or two native Indian officials, a great number of Society people, professional beauties, and the like and—and Marion!
Yes, her fair tender face smiled from the embossed, richly gilt page. The picture had been taken some years ago, but there was no mistaking those pure features. Geoffrey closed the book and walked over to the window. Surprise upon surprise had come upon him lately, but this was staggering.
When Mrs. May returned he was himself again. He could answer her questions gaily and smoothly. It was only when he was on his way home again that he recollected how much information he had imparted and how little he had got in return.
"You must come and see me again," Mrs. May said. "Now, can't you come up some evening and dine with me? Say Thursday. Unless I hear from you to the contrary I shall see you on Thursday at seven. A primitive time, but then we are in the country."
"You may be certain," Geoffrey said carelessly, "that I shall come if possible. Good-bye, Mrs. May. In ordinary circumstances my people would have called upon you. You will know why it is impossible."
Mrs. May pressed Geoffrey's hand with gentle sympathy.
"You have my real regrets," she said. "What a horrible thing it is to think that you are all powerless to help it. Good-bye."
Geoffrey found Ralph at the entrance to the castle gate. There was a queer smile on his face, a smile of amused expectation.
"You found her charming?" he asked.