“Won't you have a cup of tea?” she asked, as calmly as if he were the merest stranger and had never seen her till this hour.
“A dozen, if it pleases you,” he said, laughingly, looking straight into the dark eyes she was striving so hard to keep cold and unfriendly.
“Then you must come another day,” she answered, brightly.
“I cannot come to-morrow,” he said.
“I did not say 'to-morrow.'”
“But I'll come on Friday,” he went on, decisively. She looked concerned for an instant and then smiled.
“Lady Marnham will give you tea on Friday. I shall not be at home,” she said.
“But I am going back to New York next week,” he said, confidently.
“Next week? Are you so busy?”
“I am not anxious to return, but my man Turk says he hates London. He says he'll leave me if I stay here a month. I can't afford to lose Turk.”