The curtain was fastened again from inside. A woman's step went restlessly up and down, up and down the long piazza floors, now muffled on a rug, now light on a matting, or distinct on the bare boards.
Later a soft Oriental voice inquired, "Wha' time Missa Tho'ne wanta dinna?"
"The usual time, Ito," came the answer; "make no difference for me."
"Lika tea—coffee—after dinna?"
"Tea—iced. Have you some now? Oh, bring it, please!"
After an interval: "Has Mr. Thorne been pretty well?"
"I think."
"It is very hot. How is your kitchen—any better than it was?"
"Missa Tho'ne fixa more screen; all open now, thank you."
"Take these things into my dressing-room. No; there will be no trunk. I shall go back in a few days."