We talked softly together, quite happy for a while.
Then Mr. Carruthers got rid of Mr. Barton and came towards us. I settled
myself more comfortably on the velvet cushions. Purple velvet cushions and
curtains in this gallery, good old relics of early Victorian taste. Lots
of the house is awful, but these curtains always please me.
Mr. Carruthers's face was as stern as a stone bust of Augustus Caesar. I am
sure the monks in the Inquisition looked like that. I do wonder what he
was going to say, but Lord Robert did not give him time.
"Do go away, Christopher," he said. "Miss Travers is going to teach me
things about Italian Madonnas, and I can't keep my attention if there is a
third person about."
I suppose if Mr. Carruthers had not been a diplomat he would have sworn,
but I believe that kind of education makes you able to put your face how
you like, so he smiled sweetly and took a chair near.
"I shall not leave you, Bob," he said. "I do not consider you are a good
companion for Miss Evangeline. I am responsible for her, and I am going to
take care of her."
"Then you should not have asked him here if he is not a respectable
person," I said, innocently. "But Italian Madonnas ought to chasten and
elevate his thoughts. Anyway, your responsibility towards me is
self-constituted. I am the only person whom I mean to obey," and I settled
myself deliberately in the velvet pillows.
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