“Ah, Mrs. Crespin,” he said cordially, “I was just thinking of you. Think of angels and you hear their wings. Won’t you sit down?”
Lucilla Crespin ignored it all.
“I thought my husband was here,” she said coldly.
“He’s not far off,” Rukh replied. “Just wait in there for a few minutes,” he told Watkins, pointing to the wireless-room, “I may have instructions for you.”
Watkins went at once, unlocking the door of the wireless-room with a key on his own ring, and closed it carefully behind him.
Then the Raja continued.
“Do, pray, sit down.” She had not moved since she had seen that Rukh was in the room she had entered. “I want so much to have a chat with you,” he urged her. At that—it seemed to her best—she sat down in silence, neither looking at him, nor seeming to avoid doing so. “I hope you had everything you required?” Rukh persisted, solicitously, as he reseated himself.
“Everything,” she replied indifferently.
“The ayah?” he still persisted.
“Was most attentive,” Mrs. Crespin said briefly.