"Mrs. Meredith has come back now. I'm dreadfully sorry, I thought she had gone into Monte Carlo. She's in her room with a bad headache. Will you come and see her?"
There was an interval of silence.
"Yes, I will come," said Jaggs.
Twenty minutes later a taxicab set down the old man at the door, and a maid admitted him and brought him into the saloon.
Jean rose to meet him. She looked at the bowed figure of old Jaggs. Took him all in, from his iron-grey hair to his dusty shoes, and then she pointed to a chair.
"Sit down," she said, and old Jaggs obeyed. "You've something very important to tell Mrs. Meredith, I suppose."
"I'll tell her that myself, miss," said the old man gruffly.
"Well, before you tell her anything, I want to make a confession," she smiled down on old Jaggs, and pulled up a chair so that she faced him.
He was sitting with his back to the light, holding his battered hat on his knees.