"Where's this?" she interrupted, picking up another photograph, and regarding it with apparent liking. Looking at the foot, she read aloud, "Merrion Lodge, property of the Right Honorable Baroness Tristram of Blent." She looked up sharply at Sloyd.
"Ye-es, ye-es," said Sloyd, without much enthusiasm. "A very pretty neighborhood—a few miles from Blentmouth—rising place, Blentmouth. And it's a cheap house—small, you see, and old-fashioned."
"Not hot and cold?" she asked with apparent innocence.
Sloyd smiled uncomfortably. "I could ascertain all that for you, madame."
He waited for her to speak again, but she had turned thoughtful as she sat fingering the photograph. Presently she smiled again and said, "Yes, find out about Merrion Lodge for me, Mr Sloyd."
He began to gather up his pictures and papers.
"Is Baron Tristram alive?" she asked suddenly.
Sloyd recovered his air of superiority.
"Her ladyship is a peeress in her own right," he explained.