“Do you remember my telling you about some wonderful tea I had had, just before our first meeting?” she asked.
I hastened to assure her that I did remember, although we had discussed that tea several times and wondered about its peculiar properties.
“Well, Mrs. Fawcette has promised me some more of it, and she is taking me there to tea this afternoon!”
“To the same place?” I asked. Her words filled me with a vague apprehension, perhaps because by now I hated the thought of associating her closely with anything that had to do with my quest.
“Yes, to the same place. Now what’s the matter?” she added, laughing.
“Well,” I answered, “frankly, I hate the thought of your taking drugs of any kind, however mild. You don’t belong in that crowd, Natalie.”
She laughed. “Oh, but I must have some more of that tea, if only to convince myself that there was nothing in it, and that my queer mood was only a mood.”
“Well, if you must go there, somehow I wish you’d let me go with you! I know it’s a funny request, and I don’t quite know why I don’t want you to go there without me—but I don’t!” I felt very young and awkward with that speech. But there was so little that I could tell her to warn her. And I did not trust either Mrs. Fawcette or her friends. I had seen something of them, and they were a queer crowd, to say the least.
Natalie looked up at me curiously. “You are in a funny mood to-day,” she said. “But if you want to come along, I should think Mrs. Fawcette would be delighted to take you!” It was unlike her, but I seemed to feel something of a challenge in her last remark.
Before I could answer, however, she had turned to that lady, who was sitting near by.