"Come to-morrow, if you will, and pardon an old woman's whim in asking you with so little ceremony."
"I will come, of course." He wondered if she felt a city loneliness like his own.
"Thank you. I shall be in after four." She gave him a card from a small silver case at her belt. "The room is close. You may fetch me tea."
He was certain her eyes were sharply on him as he went, and when he returned, her full gaze swept him with a look in which he curiously read incredulity, with something beside that might have been fear or repulsion—he could not determine. She took the tea, but set it down untasted. A very queer old lady he thought her. He stood by in embarrassment, not knowing what to say. Glancing about for inspiration he was relieved to see Bartell bearing down upon him from the side of Mrs. Laithe. He came up jovially.
"I've been ordered to separate you two, Kitty. Young men aren't plentiful at this time, and Eleanor wants one."
"Thank you for bringing him, Chris." She gave Ewing a little nod, which he construed as his release, and he turned to meet Mrs. Laithe.
She sought his eyes with that swift look of apprehension which had before puzzled him, and threw another glance toward Mrs. Lowndes, who now chatted smilingly with Bartell. She seemed to be reassured.
"I do hope you've not been bored. No? I was afraid. Come and meet my sister," and she momentarily swept away his memories of the queer old lady by leading him to the girl in white who poured tea.
"Virgie, this is Mr. Ewing."
The girl looked up with that hint of shyness he had before observed in her. The eyes instantly recalled his own mountain lake when the light showed it to far, green depths. But they fell at once, for she inclined her head toward him, seized a cup and demanded sternly, "Cream or lemon—I mean I'm very glad to know you. Do you take sugar?"