The lady in black satin appeared undecided. She looked from Anna, who was far too nice-looking to be travelling about alone, to that reassuring pile of luggage, and wrinkled her brows thoughtfully.
“Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. The class of guests we have are all permanent, and I am obliged to be very careful indeed. But—if you are a friend of Mr. Courtlaw’s—I should like to oblige Mr. Courtlaw.”
“It is very nice of you to think of it,” Anna said briskly. “I should really like to find somewhere to stay, if it was only for a few nights.”
The lady stood away from the door.
“Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. Most of my people are upstairs dressing for dinner. The gentlemen are so particular now, and a good thing too, I say. I was always used to it, and I think it gives quite a tone to an establishment. Please sit down, Miss—dear me, I haven’t asked you your name yet.”
“My name is Pellissier,” Anna said, “Anna Pellissier.”
“I am Mrs. White,” the lady in black satin remarked. “It makes one feel quite awkward to mention such a thing, but after all I think that it is best for both parties. Could you give me any references?”
“There is Mr. Courtlaw,” Anna said, “and my solicitors, Messrs. Le Mercier and Stowe of St. Heliers. They are rather a long way off, but you could write to them. I am sorry that I do not know any one in London. But after all, Mrs. White, I am not sure that I could afford to come to you. I am shockingly poor. Please tell me what your terms are.”
“Well,” Mrs. White said slowly, “it depends a good deal upon what rooms you have. Just now my best ones are all taken.”
“So much the better,” Anna declared cheerfully. “The smallest will do for me quite well.”