A spurt of flame and a crash of breaking china interrupted her sentence. Mrs. Lemesurier had overturned spirit-lamp and coffee-pot. Much damage had resulted to cups and saucers. The tablecloth was burning.
“Not bad at all,” thought Anthony, as he rose to help. “But you won’t get off quite so easily.”
Order was restored; fresh coffee made and drunk. The party moved to the drawing-room and thence to garden.
Anthony lingered in the pleasant room before joining the others on the lawn.
At last he took a seat beside his hostess. The deck-chairs were in the shade of one of the three great cedars.
“A delightful room, your drawing-room, if I may say so.” His tone was harmlessly affable.
The reply was icy. “I am glad it pleases you, Mr.—Mr. Gethryn.”
Anthony beamed. “Yes, charming, charming. It has an air, a grace only too rare nowadays. I admired that sideboard thing immensely; Chippendale, I think. And how the silver of those cups shows up the polish of the wood!”
With this speech he did not get the effect for which he had wished. Beyond a pulse in the white throat that leapt into startled throbbing, there was no sign of alarm. She remained silent.
Half his mind applauded her and reviled himself.