"And are these two of the Lady's maids?"
"Suppose they are?" rapped the girl.
"What a dramatic ideal"
She discovered that the eyes could hold something even more infuriating than insolence, and that was a condescending amusement. A little while before she had been treating Stephen Weald like a fractious child: now she was receiving the same treatment herself.
"I'm glad you like it," she said sweetly.
"You're not," said the Saint cheerfully. "But let that pass. I came to give you a word of advice."
"Thanks very much."
"Not at all."
He pointed with a long brown finger past the girl.
"There's a house up there," he said. "Don't pretend you don't know, because I should hate you to have to tell any unnecessary lies. It belongs to Lord Essenden. My advice to you is — don't go there."