CHAPTER XIV
A SUGGESTION
Miss Luscombe, humming a tune, was wandering round her drawing-room, arranging it. She always hummed a little tune when she was alone, if possible some quaint old French air. Not that she was really alone now; only her invisible mother was with her. To do her justice, Flora took as much trouble to impress this almost imperceptible audience as if she represented a large crowd.
"There!" she said. She dusted a little blue vase and put it further back. "Now you're nice and tidy. No, you go back there, you ugly thing!" pouting at a photograph, "you're not wanted to-day! Come out more in the light, Lady Charles! We want you to be seen. That's better!"
From the depths of an arm-chair, where she was hidden, Mrs. Luscombe, who was watching her with intense irritation, said sharply—
"Who do you expect to-day?"
"Oh! how you startled me, Mummy! I didn't know you were there.... Isn't it funny, when you wear that dark red dress, just the colour of the armchair, one doesn't see you?"
She went on humming in the low, sweet voice, "La violette double, double—la violette double-ra-ra."
"Pray stop that, Flora. My nerves won't bear it. Who did you say you expect?"
"Mr. Rathbone, darling, if you must know. Mr. John Ryland Rathbone, to be exact. You know he's one of the Catford Rathbones, don't you, Mummy?"