Gita’s eyes were hard and bright. She sat in a high-backed wing-chair, her head very erect. Her resemblance to the portrait of her grandmother behind her smote Elsie; and with a faint sense of amusement but more of regret, she seated herself opposite.
“Geoffrey tells me that Eustace is getting on splendidly,” she said. “I’m so glad to hear it.”
“Your brother is an admirable surgeon. Lucky for Eustace he was in Atlantic City that night. Lucky more ways than one. Averted a scandal, no doubt. I’ve just seen Eustace, and now that he’s so much better I hope you’ll give him some of your time. He always enjoyed talking to you.”
“Of course I will! As often as he can stand me. But I suppose he’ll be up and about before long.”
“He’ll still need amusing. You wouldn’t like to move over again? Eustace will probably go abroad later, but not for quite a while, I should think. He’ll no doubt prefer to get his strength back here in the country. I’ll be glad to have you come.”
Elsie darted a swift glance at the haughty, almost arrogant figure in the stately chair. What scheme lay behind that careless invitation that was more like a command? She fancied she could guess.
“I’ll come, of course, if you want me. And I’m glad Polly was able to be with you this week. She’s not wasting her time, by the way.” Elsie craned her neck toward the garden. “You remember I once told you she had—oddly enough—taken a tremendous fancy to my brother. I’m wondering if it’s really serious.”
But Gita would not discuss Polly with Elsie. And she suddenly remembered that Geoffrey’s sister had expressed intense disapproval of such a marriage. She ranged herself on Polly’s side instinctively.
Dr. Pelham appeared at the window. “Why are you sitting in the house on a day like this?” he asked. “Come out into the garden. How did you find Eustace, Mrs. Bylant?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me Mrs. Bylant. I’m Gita Carteret to everyone else. He seems all right, and not a bit tired when I left him. Where’s Polly?”