“That’s no help,” said Lord Torrington. “Anybody might have a Primus stove.”
“She said she’d borrowed it from Professor Wilder,” said Frank.
“Who the devil is Professor Wilder?”
“He’s doing the rotifers,” said Frank. “At least Miss Rutherford said he was. I don’t know who he is.”
“That’s not Isabel,” said Lord Torrington. “She wouldn’t have the intelligence to invent a professor who collected rotifers. I don’t suppose she ever heard of rotifers. I never did. What are they?”
“Insects, I fancy,” said Sir Lucius. “I daresay Priscilla would know. Shall I send for her?”
“No,” said Lord Torrington. “I don’t care what rotifers are. Let’s finish our cigars outside, Lentaigne. It’s infernally hot.”
Frank had finished his cigarette. He had no wish to spend any time beyond what was absolutely necessary in Lord Torrington’s company. He felt sure that Lord Torrington would insist on walking briskly up and down when he got outside. Frank could not walk briskly, even with the aid of two sticks. He made up his mind to hobble off in search of Priscilla. He found her, after some painful journeyings, in a most unlikely place. She was sitting in the long gallery with Lady Torrington and Miss Lentaigne. The two ladies reclined in easy chairs in front of an open window. There were several partially smoked cigarettes in a china saucer on the floor beside Miss Lentaigne. Lady Torrington was fanning herself with a slow motion which reminded Frank of the way in which a tiger, caged in a zoological garden, switches its tail after being fed. Priscilla sat in the background under a lamp. She had chosen a straight-backed chair which stood opposite a writing table. She sat bolt upright in it with her hands folded on her lap and her left foot crossed over her right. Her face wore a look of slightly puzzled, but on the whole intelligent interest; such as a humble dependent might feel while submitting to instruction kindly imparted by some very eminent person. She wore a white frock, trimmed with embroidery, of a perfectly simple kind. She had a light blue sash round her waist. Her hair, which was very sleek, was tied with a light blue ribbon. Round her neck, on a third light blue ribbon, much narrower than either of the other two, hung a tiny gold locket shaped like a heart. She turned as Frank entered the room and met his gaze of astonishment with a look of extreme innocence. Her eyes made him think for a moment of those of a lamb, a puppy or other young animal which is half-frightened, half-curious at the happening of something altogether outside of its previous experience.
Neither of the ladies at the window took any notice of Frank’s entrance. He hobbled across the room and sat down beside Priscilla. She got up at once and, without looking at him, walked demurely to the chair on which Miss Lentaigne was sitting.
“Please, Aunt Juliet,” she said, “may I go to bed? I think it’s time.”