Half-way down the steps the watchman stopped, surprised by a voice from
behind the curtains. He came back in answer to his name.
A thin white hand parted the curtain an inch or two. There was the flicker
of a fan held against the light.
"Oh, Hughson, will you tell Mr. Thorne that I am here? He doesn't know I
have come."
"Tell him that Mrs. Thorne is home?" the man translated slowly.
"Yes. He does not expect me. You will tell him at once, please?"
"Yes, ma'am."
The curtain was fastened again from inside. A woman's step went restlessly
up and down, up and down the long piazza floors, now muffled on a rug, now
light on a matting, or distinct on the bare boards.
Later a soft Oriental voice inquired, "Wha' time Missa Tho'ne wanta dinna?"
"The usual time, Ito," came the answer; "make no difference for me."
"Lika tea--coffee--after dinna?"
"Tea--iced. Have you some now? Oh, bring it, please!"
After an interval: "Has Mr. Thorne been pretty well?"
"I think."
"It is very hot. How is your kitchen--any better than it was?"
"Missa Tho'ne fixa more screen; all open now, thank you."
"Take these things into my dressing-room.
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