"Where is Miss Hersey?" she asked, beginning to mount the stairs. "Same room?"
"No; a shunter from King's Cross has that now. Such a nice-spoken young feller. Miss Hersey's in the room with the cistern. I'll bring you up a nice cup of tea directly, dear. I won't put it down in her bill," she whispered in a burst of generosity.
Upstairs in the room with the cistern the two girls ran into one another's arms. But Maggy was not to escape a repetition of the scrutiny that Mrs. Bell had given her downstairs. After their embrace Alexandra drew back and looked at her with concern.
"Maggy!" she exclaimed. "Have you been ill? There's nothing of you."
"Rubbish!" said Maggy. "It's all over, anyway. I'm what they call svelte in the society papers. I was all face and fatness before. Fred says I'm a lady-like size now. It's the 'Willow' corset. I'm in the Ladies' Field this week. Such a sketch! Just a chemise and— But don't let's talk about me. Lexie, I wanted to ask you something. Mrs. Lambert wrote to me two or three times, and I wrote to her. Do you know if she tore the letters up?"
"I found them. Lord Chalfont asked me to look through a lot of her papers, and your letters were there. They were marked in pencil 'Destroy.' I expect she meant to have done it, so I tore them up myself. There were three letters and a postcard. I couldn't help seeing what was on the postcard—'All over, Maggy.' What did you mean?"
Under her paint and powder Maggy flushed a little.
"Oh, that was—about my illness. Thank you for destroying the letters, Lexie. There was nothing in them I couldn't have told you, but they were about things you'd rather not know."
"Then you have been ill?"
"Rest cure, my dear. Forget it."