Parrot ushered in a tall figure in black and then withdrew. The vicar stepped forward and found himself gazing into the depths of two resplendent dark eyes set in a very white face.
"Pray sit down," he said, "and tell me in what way I can be of service to you."
"May I speak French?" asked the lady in a low voice.
"Mais certainement, Madame," said the courtly clergyman, who twenty or thirty years ago had studied Sinful Sundays abroad with intelligence and attention.
The lady sat down and was silent. She wore black cotton gloves and held in her hands a small handkerchief, which she clutched and crumpled nervously into a little ball.
The kindly vicar with his head on one side waited a little while and then spoke. "You are staying in Maylands? In Mrs. Whitaker's house, I believe? Have I not seen you, with two young girls?"
"Yes. My daughter and my sister-in-law." Louise's voice was so low that he had to bend forward to catch her words.
"Indeed. Yes." The vicar joined his finger-tips together, then disjoined them, then clapped them lightly together, waiting for further enlightenment. As it was not forthcoming he inquired: "May I know your name, Madame?"
"Louise Brandès."
"And ... er—monsieur your husband——?" the vicar's face was interrogative and prepared for sympathy.