Their eyes met, the glow of Mr. Brumley’s declarations remained with them, but neither dared risk any phrase that might arouse Sir Isaac’s suspicions or escape his acuteness. And when they had gone through the new additions pretty thoroughly—the plumbers were still busy with the barn bathroom—Sir Isaac asked Mr. Brumley if there was anything more he would like to see. In the slight pause that ensued Lady Harman suggested tea. But tea gave them no opportunity of resuming their interrupted conversation, and as Sir Isaac’s invincible determination to shadow his visitor until he was well off the premises became more and more unmistakable,—he made it quite ungraciously unmistakable,—Mr. Brumley’s inventiveness failed. One thing came to him suddenly, but it led to nothing of any service to him.
“But I heard you were dangerously ill, Lady Harman!” he cried. “Lady Beach-Mandarin called here——”
“But when?” asked Lady Harman, astonished over the tea-things.
“But you know she called!” said Mr. Brumley and looked in affected reproach at Sir Isaac.
“I’ve not been ill at all!”
“Sir Isaac told her.”
“Told her I was ill!”
“Dangerously ill. That you couldn’t bear to be disturbed.”
“But when, Mr. Brumley?”
“Three days ago.”