"And does she really smoke?" asked Tony.
"Yes, she does. Quite a lot, I think."
"Ah, well, that's different, isn't it?" Miss Delmege's serenity remained quite unimpaired. "One can understand her requiring it. I believe it really is supposed to be soothing, isn't it? Of course, working as she does, her nerves probably require it. What I mean to say is, she probably requires it for her nerves."
"I dare say. I wonder where she'll smoke here?"
"In Mrs. Bullivant's sitting-room, I suppose. Not that she'll be here much, I don't suppose. Only just for her meals, you know, and then to go straight to bed when she gets in."
"I do hope that her sleeping in Questerham isn't going to serve her as an excuse for working later than ever!" exclaimed Miss Delmege, in the tones of proprietary concern with which she always spoke of Miss Vivian's strenuous habits.
"Yes, I see what you mean," Mrs. Potter agreed. "With her car waiting, she simply had to come away sooner or later."
"Exactly; and she's always so considerate for her chauffeur, and every one. I really do think that I've never seen any one—and I'm not saying it because it is Miss Vivian, but speaking quite impersonally—any one who went out of her way, as she does, to think of other people."
"Look at what she did for me—even ordered a cab each way for me!" cried Miss Plumtree, very simply.
"That," said Miss Delmege gently, "is just Miss Vivian all over."