"Is Mr. Ashley at home?" she enquired.
"Yes," said Jervis. "What name shall I say?"
Lucille hesitated; it might be advisable not to mention her mistress's name to the valet, and her own surname was not known to Melville.
"Miss Lucille," she said at last, and Jervis smiled.
"French," he thought. "Query, French maid. Gad, I'm beginning to think I gave Mr. Ashley a false character to the family lawyer, and that the circle of his female acquaintances is larger than I thought." He invited Lucille to walk in, and bestowing upon her another smile of cordiality and approval, of which she took no notice whatever, went into the bedroom where Melville was dressing.
"A lady to see you, sir."
"A what?" said Melville, looking at the clock; an odd time, he thought, forgetting for the moment, with characteristic casualness, the urgent reasons several women might have for ringing him up at any time. "Who is she? What does she want?"
"Don't know, sir," Jervis replied; "haven't seen her before; gave the name of Lucille—Miss Lucille."
"Oh! ah! of course," said Melville quickly. "That's all right. Tell her I'll come in a minute, and then I shan't want you."
"Thank you, sir," said Jervis, and giving the message to Lucille, he left the flat, and, substituting a smart coat for his linen jacket, he arranged himself upon the staircase to await Lucille's reappearance, holding a feather brush in his hand to avoid any air of being out of work.