So Lady Raffold reasoned to herself as Priscilla poured out the tea in
serious silence, and she gradually soothed her own annoyance by the
process.
"Come," she said at length, breaking a long silence, "I should think
Ralph Cochrane will be in England in ten days at the latest. We must not
be too formal with him as he is a relation. Shall we ask him to luncheon
on the Sunday after next?"
Priscilla did not at once reply. When at length she looked up, it was
with the air of one coming out of a reverie.
"Oh, yes, if you like, Charlotte," she said, in her deep, quiet voice.
"No doubt he will amuse you. I know you always enjoy Americans."
"And you, my dear?" said Lady Raffold, with just a hint of sharpness in
her tone.
"I?" Again her stepdaughter paused a little, as if collecting her
thoughts. "I shall not be here," she said finally. "I have decided to go
down to Raffold for midsummer week, and I don't suppose I shall hurry
back. It won't matter, will it? I often think that you entertain best
alone. And I am so tired of London heat and dust."
There was an unconscious note of wistfulness in the beautiful voice, but
its dominant virtue was determination.
Lady Raffold realised at once to her unspeakable indignation that
protest was useless.
"Really, Priscilla," was all she found to say, "I am amazed--yes,
amazed--at your total lack of consideration.
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