Paul Harley, who fully appreciated the purpose of this abrupt
change in the conversation, nodded in agreement. "The call of the
East," he replied, "is a very real thing. Only one who has heard
it can understand and appreciate all it means."
The butler, an excellently trained servant, went about his work
with quiet efficiency, and once Harley heard him mutter rapid
instructions to the surly parlourmaid, who hovered disdainfully
in the background. When again host and guest found themselves
alone: "I don't in any way distrust the servants," explained Sir
Charles, "but one cannot hope to prevent gossip." He raised his
serviette to his lips and almost immediately resumed: "I was
about to tell you, Mr. Harley, about my daughter's--"
He paused and cleared his throat, then, hastily pouring out a
glass of water, he drank a sip or two and Paul Harley noticed
that his hand was shaking nervously. He thought of the photograph
in the library, and now, in this reference to a distinguished
Oriental gentleman, he suddenly perceived the possible drift of
the conversation.
This was the point to which Sir Charles evidently experienced
such difficulty in coming. It was something which concerned his
daughter; and, mentally visualizing the pure oval face and
taunting eyes of the library photograph, Harley found it
impossible to believe that the evil which threatened Sir Charles
could possibly be associated in any way with Phyllis Abingdon.
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