A swift gesture summoned Weldon to the table,
while Frazer dropped into his vacant chair. Ethel met the Captain
with only a half-concealed eagerness. This was not the first time
that a consciously trivial word of hers had been crushed out of life
by Weldon's serious dignity. She was never quite able to understand
his mood upon such occasions. The man was no prig. At times, he was
as merry as a boy. At other times, he showed an inflexible
seriousness which left her with the vague feeling of being somehow
or other in the wrong. The result was a mood of pique, rather than
of antagonism. Up to that time, Ethel Dent had known only unreserved
approval. Weldon's occasional gravity, to her mind, suggested
certain reservations. By way of overcoming these reservations, she
focussed her whole attention upon Captain Leo Frazer. Across the
table, Weldon, in the intervals of his talk with his hostess, could
hear the low murmur of their absorbed conversation.
It had been at Ethel's suggestion that the tea-table had been set,
that hot afternoon, under the trees in the heart of the garden. Just
at the crossing of two broad walks, a vine-roofed kiosk gave shelter
from the late sunshine, while its bamboo screens were half raised to
show the long perspective of garden walk and distant lawn.
Pages:
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95