Zillah opened her sunshade, and held it daintily at the back of her head.
“Perhaps I ought not to have mentioned it,” she responded carelessly, “but I think you and Lady Montella ought to know. Raie has not told me much, but it is evidently a secret love-affair. They meet clandestinely every day somewhere in this direction.”
“And the man?”
“Is a Mr. Merryweather, presumably a tourist. He came to the Government House one evening, and I was rather favourably impressed. But he is too old and too worldly-wise for Raie. He must be over thirty, and has evidently been about a good deal.”
“Merryweather?” repeated Lionel thoughtfully. “Is he a Jew?”
“Yes; at least Raie says he is, although he has not the appearance of one.”
“And they made each other’s acquaintance while we were in Jerusalem, I suppose?” There was a note of vexation in his voice. “I am surprised at Raie. My mother will be very displeased. But perhaps Mrs. Emanuel—Raie’s mother—knows something about it?”
Miss Lorm gave vent to a little shrug. “Perhaps,” she replied carelessly. “I do not know. Don’t say I told you anything about it, will you, Lionel? Raie would be so cross, and— Good gracious, there they are!”
She stopped suddenly in her walk, and placed her hand detainingly on his arm. Montella’s eyes followed the direction of her glance with astonishment, and he could not resist an exclamation of surprise. The two delinquents were seated in a shady arbour, almost concealed by deeply-hanging evergreens. Their faces were in shadow, but Miss Lorm recognised the girl’s light hat.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, with a touch of excitement. “Catch them red-handed, or pretend not to see them?”