Melville picked up his monocle and polished it carefully before readjusting it in his eye.
"But tell me," he persisted, "what are you doing here?"
"Living here," Mrs. Sinclair answered. "What else do you suppose?"
"I can't quite sort things," Melville said apologetically. "To begin with, you see, I had never heard until last night that there was a Lady Holt, and when I got her note asking me to call here to-day I tried to picture what she would be like."
"What was the result of your efforts?" Mrs. Sinclair enquired.
Melville laughed slightly.
"Well, I'm bound to admit that I imagined my uncle's choice in women would be early Victorian, so to speak, and I don't think it's anything but a compliment to say that the early Victorian brand isn't very likely to agree with you. If you like Lady Holt, there is hope for me."
"I like her very much," Mrs. Sinclair said. "Mr. Melville, it isn't quite fair, perhaps, to lay snares for young men, and you evidently don't grasp the situation. You remember your last night at Monte Carlo?"
"It was not the sort of night to forget readily," Melville replied grimly. "I never had such monstrous bad luck at the tables before."
"You gave me one of your cards and I promised to write to you."