CHAPTER XXII
MR. COOMBE WEARS A WHITE TIE
Kathleen had given them tea, she had chatted and laughed, she had concealed every feeling and every thought with that skill that is acquired by every intelligent, well educated woman.
How daintily she presided over the tea tray. Her white hand never trembled—was it three lumps or only two that Sir Josiah took? What a kind, friendly glance she flashed at Allan as he took his father's cup from her hand. How should Allan know, how should anyone in that room, save perhaps one, know that every nerve in her delicate body was quivering, that in her heart there was a mingled fear and joy, gladness and sorrow, anxiety for the future, and regret for the past.
"No tea for me, child, the doctor positively forbids it, positively," his lordship said; he sighed. "No one appreciates a cup of tea more than I, but I am obliged to forego it. One has to give up many things, eh Sir Josiah, the falling leaf must not be too roughly dealt with, else perhaps it will fall even before its time. No, no tea for me, my love, but if I might beg a glass of soda water—just a glass of plain soda water—with perhaps the merest, the very merest touch of brandy, hey Allan, just to take the bite off the soda water, so to speak?"
Coombe, sipping tea which he had no love for, eyed his enemy the peer, malevolently. His lordship, he noticed, reversed the programme, it was the merest touch of the soda water to take the bite off the brandy.
"Owes me four hundred and treats me like dirt, hanged if I don't bung a writ into him!" thought Coombe.
He happened to be sitting near to Lord Gowerhurst and presently his lordship adjusted his monocle and stared at Coombe.
"Ah, ha, Mr. Groom, I think that you were telling me just now that we had met at Hansbar, Langworthy's place in Somerset? Have you known the Langworthys long, eh?"
"I didn't say anything of the kind," Coombe growled sullenly. "I said——"