"The hour was fixed for the townspeople's convenience."
In five minutes you had gathered that you would not be allowed to see Professor Lee Ramsden; that Professor Lee Ramsden did not desire to see or talk to anybody except Mrs. Smythe-Caulfield; that he kept his best things for her; that all sorts of people were trying to get at him, and that he trusted her to protect him from invasion; that you had been admitted in order that Mrs. Smythe-Caulfield might have the pleasure of telling you these things.
Mary saw that the moment was atrocious; but it didn't matter. A curious tranquillity possessed her: she felt something there, close to her, like a person in the room, giving her a sudden security. The moment that was mattering so abominably to her poor, kind friend belonged to a time that was not her time.
She heard the tinkle of tea cups outside the hall; then a male voice, male footsteps. Mrs. Smythe-Caulfield made a large encircling movement towards the door. Something interceptive took place there.
As they went back down the black-grey drive between the laurel and arbutus Miss Kendal carried her head higher than ever.
"That is the first time in my life, Mary, that I've asked a favour."
"You did it for me." ("She hated it, but she did it for me.")
"Never mind. We aren't going to mind, are we? We'll do without them…. That's right, my dear. Laugh. I'm glad you can. I dare say I shall laugh myself to-morrow."
"I don't want to laugh," Mary said. She could have cried when she looked at the grey gloves and the frilled mantle, and the sad, insulted face in the bonnet with the white marabou feather. (And that horrible woman hadn't even given her tea.)
The enormous eye of the town clock pursued them to the station.