"Yes, I do," he said, "because, after all, you can do something for me. I want you to be particularly kind to her, will you, Anne, dear?"
"But, of course; only you must tell me who she is and where I shall find her."
"You will find her at Claridge's, and she is only the wife of an impossible Australian millionaire called Brown—Josiah Brown."
"Poor dear Hector, how terrible!" thought Anne. "It is not the American, then?" she said, aloud.
"There never was any American," he exclaimed. "Monica is the most ridiculous gossip, and always sees wrong. If she had not Jack to keep her from talking so much she would not leave one of us with a rag of character."
"I will go to-morrow and call there, Hector," Lady Anningford said. "My cold is sure to be better; and if she is not in, shall I write a note and ask her to lunch? The husband, too, I suppose?"
"I fear so. Anne, you are a brick."
Then he said good-night, and went to the opera.
Left to herself, Lady Anningford thought: "I suppose she is some flashy, pretty creature who has caught Hector's fancy, the poor darling. One never has chanced to find an Australian quite, quite a lady. I almost wish he would marry Morella and have done with it."