“Well, it isn’t,” I snapped. “It seems to me, really, Bella, that you and Jim ought to be able to manage your own affairs, without dragging me in.” It was not pleasant, but if she was suffering, so was I. “Jim is as well as he ever was. He’s upstairs somewhere. I’ll send for him.”
She gripped me again, and held on while her color came back.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” she said, and she had quite got hold of herself again. “I do not want to see him: I hope you don’t think, Kit, that I came here to see James Wilson. Why, I have forgotten that there IS such a person, and you know it.”
Somebody upstairs laughed, and I was growing nervous. What if Aunt Selina should come down, or Mr. Harbison come out of the den?
“Why DID you come, then, Bella?” I inquired. “He may come in.”
“I was passing in the motor,” she said, and I honestly think she hoped I would believe her, “and I saw that am—” She stopped and began again. “I thought Jim was out of town, and I came to see Takahiro,” she said brazenly. “He was devoted to me, and Evans is going to leave. I’ll tell you what to do, Kit. I’ll go back to the dining room, and you send Taka there. If any one comes, I can slip into the pantry.”
“It’s immoral,” I protested. “It’s immoral to steal your—”
“My own butler!” she broke in impatiently. “You’re not usually so scrupulous, Kit. Hurry! I hear that hateful Anne Brown.”
So we slid back along the hall, and I rang for Takahiro. But no one came.
“I think I ought to tell you, Bella,” I said as we waited, and Bella was staring around the room—“I think you ought to know that Miss Caruthers is here.”