“I’d better call for you to-morrow morning. It’s out of my way, but then Elena said you didn’t know London, and would probably get lost. Will you be ready by half-past eight?”
“Yes,” said Lydia. “I’m sorry it’s out of your way.”
“So am I, but it can’t be helped. Whatever made you come to a place like this?” inquired Miss Graham, throwing round her a glance expressive of anything but admiration.
“The manageress is a friend of ours,” Lydia said stiffly. “Do you live at home, then?”
“Lord, no. I share diggings with another girl. Well, so long then. Half-past eight to-morrow.”
“I shall be waiting in the hall,” said Lydia. “Good-bye, and thank you for coming.”
She politely escorted Miss Graham to the front door, where the smell of cooking was stronger than ever.
As she went upstairs again, the lady of the writing-table came out of the drawing-room.
“Good morning,” said she brightly. “We must introduce ourselves. I’m Miss Forster.”
She laughed heartily as she spoke.