“Is she here still?” asked Lucia. She did not intend to ask that, but she simply could not help it.
“Oh yes. She’s going to stop here two or three days, as she doesn’t sing in London again till Thursday.”
Lucia longed to ask if the Princess was remaining as well, but she had self control enough not to. Perhaps it would come out some other way....
“Dear Olga,” said Lucia effusively. “I reckon her quite a Riseholmite.”
“Oh quite,” said Georgie, who was determined not to let his ice melt. “Yes: I had tea at Olga’s, and we had the most wonderful weedj. Just she and the Princess and Daisy and I.”
Lucia gave her silvery peal of laughter. It sounded as if it had “turned” a little in this hot weather, or got a little tarnished.
“Dear Daisy!” she said. “Is she not priceless? How she adores her conjuring tricks and hocus-pocuses! Tell me all about it. An Egyptian guide: Abfou, was it not?”
Georgie thought it might be wiser not to tell Lucia all that Abfou had vouchsafed, unless she really insisted, for Abfou had written the most sarcastic things about her in perfect English at top-speed. He had called her a snob again, and said she was too grand now for her old friends, and had been really rude about her shingled hair.
“Yes, Abfou,” he said. “Abfou was in great form, and Olga has telegraphed for a planchette. Abfou said she was most psychical, and had great mediumistic gifts. Well, that went on a long time.”
“What else did Abfou say?” asked Lucia, fixing Georgie with her penetrating eye.