"Ah," said Tony in friendly remonstrance, "your bravery makes it too hard to help you!"
"Don't try to help me—don't even want to. And don't tell any tales. Hush!" she went on in a different tone. "Here's Mrs. Beever!"
The lady of Eastmead was preceded by the butler, who, having formally announced her, announced luncheon as invidiously as if it had only been waiting for her. The servants at each house had ways of reminding her they were not the servants at the other.
"Luncheon's all very well," said Tony, "but who in the world's to eat it? Before you do," he continued, to Mrs. Beever, "there's something I must ask of you."
"And something I must ask too," Rose added, while the butler retired like a conscientious Minister retiring from untenable office. She addressed herself to their neighbour with a face void, to Tony's astonishment, of every vestige of disorder. "Didn't Mr. Vidal come back with you?"
Mrs. Beever looked incorruptible. "Indeed he did!" she sturdily replied. "Mr. Vidal is in the garden of this house."
