"I will tell him," she said almost inaudibly.
"And thank you very much for coming to inquire after me," I added.
"Good-afternoon."
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Ducaine."
I closed the door. Lady Angela was lounging in my easy chair with a slight smile upon her lips.
"Two lady callers in one afternoon, Mr. Ducaine," she remarked quietly.
"You will lose your head, I am afraid."
"I can assure you, Lady Angela," I answered, "that there is not the slightest fear of such a catastrophe."
She sat looking meditatively into the fire, swinging her dogskin gloves in her hands. She wore a plain pearl grey walking dress and deerstalker hat with a single quill in it. The severe but immaculate simplicity of her toilette might have been designed to accentuate the barbarities of Blanche Moyat's cheap finery.
"I understood that you would be in town for at least three weeks," I remarked. "I trust that his Grace is well."
"I trust that he is," she answered. "I see nothing of him in London. He has company meetings and political work every moment of his time. I do not believe that there is any one who works harder."
"He has, at least," I remarked, "the compensation of success."