Lucia was feeling much surer of her ground. Georgie, bribed by a place on the golf-committee and by her admiration of his golf, and by her nobility with regard to Pug, was trotting back quick to her, and that was something. Next morning she had a hectic interview with Lady Ambermere....
Lady Ambermere was said to be not at home, though Lucia had seen her majestic face at the window of the pink saloon. So she asked for Miss Lyall, the downtrodden companion, and waited in the hall. Her chauffeur had deposited the large brown-paper parcel with Pug inside on the much-admired tessellated pavement.
“Oh, Miss Lyall,” said Lucia. “So sad that dear Lady Ambermere is out, for I wanted to convey the grateful thanks of the Museum Committee to her for her beautiful gift of poor Pug. But they feel they can’t.... Yes, that’s Pug in the brown-paper parcel. So sweet. But will you, on Lady Ambermere’s return, make it quite clear?”
Miss Lyall, looking like a mouse, considered what her duty was in this difficult situation. She felt that Lady Ambermere ought to know Lucia’s mission and deal with it in person.
“I’ll see if Lady Ambermere has come in, Mrs. Lucas,” she said. “She may have come in. Just out in the garden, you know. Might like to know what you’ve brought. O dear me!”
Poor Miss Lyall scuttled away, and presently the door of the pink saloon was thrown open. After an impressive pause Lady Ambermere appeared, looking vexed. The purport of this astounding mission had evidently been conveyed to her.
“Mrs. Lucas, I believe,” she said, just as if she wasn’t sure.
Now Lucia after all her Duchesses was not going to stand that. Lady Ambermere might have a Roman nose, but she hadn’t any manners.
“Lady Ambermere, I presume,” she retorted. So there they were.
Lady Ambermere glared at her in a way that should have turned her to stone. It made no impression.