CHAPTER XXXV
A MEDDLER
The breeze had freshened: there were white wisps in the blue above, and tiny crests upon the blue below. It was early morning; and Tom, having waited admirably overnight, was setting the breakfast-table when his master came in glowing from the morning dip. As a rule they bathed together; this exception was their first. They had not spoken since the previous evening. But here was Daintree in a glow from more causes than salt water and fresh air; and a glance told the other that he was forgiven.
“Well, Thomas, will you listen to me another time? Neither lady has the slightest idea who you are!”
“I am thankful to hear you say so,” said Tom, laying the knives.
“Lady Starkie never set eyes on you before. I feel certain that Miss Harding doesn’t know you from Adam. Don’t you think it was rather vain of you to imagine that she would?”
“I was afraid of it, sir,” said Tom. “That was all.”
“And very natural too,” said his master kindly. “I quite enter into your embarrassment, and only fear I said more than I meant in the heat of the moment last night. You must forgive me, Thomas; it was unpleasant for you, I admit; but you won’t mind another day of it, will you? One more day will end it—for the present!”
The swarthy countenance was more radiant than ever. Tom was nonplussed.
