’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. Whatever those rights may be, whoever I am, my heart is yours. I have made up my mind to insist upon moving from here into Park Lane, or one of the Squares. We are expecting a visit from Sir John Ferringhall at any moment. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. She looked stealthily at Anna. . But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. Nothing. ’ A twinkle crept into Mrs Sindlesham’s eye. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. Then she called a hansom and drove home.
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