"What! Not even the new?"
"Oh, that part!" He smiled and followed her up. "You won't mind my going soon?"
"The sooner the better if you talk like that!" She threw open the door of her little sitting-room. How well the Show was going!
"A soda and whisky, Colonel? I suppose that's your idea of tea." She had the scene ready. She had got it all up like a little play, writing down the articles on a sheet of paper headed "Property List": "Cigars, cigarettes, syphons, spirits, sporting-papers," all borrowed from Master Harold Lee Carter to entertain a visitor.
But at the height of the play's prosperity, while the Colonel clinked tumblers with Nelly, came a contretemps, and all the farce darkened swiftly to drama as the gay landscape is overgloomed by a thundercloud.
It all came from Mrs. Lee Carter's benevolent fussiness, her interest in the man who had come to marry her governess. A servant knocked at the door, stuck her head in, and said, "Mrs. Lee Carter's compliments, and would you like some tea?"
"No, thank you," said Eileen, hurriedly.
But as the door closed, the Colonel's glass fell to the ground, and he rose to his feet. His bronzed face was working wildly.
"Mrs. Lee Carter!" he gasped. "You—you are Eileen!"
"Here's a mess," she said coolly, stooping to wipe up the carpet.