This must be Lady Beatrice Strobridge.
"Gerard," the lady said, rather querulously, "I don't mean to stay for more than ten minutes—so don't get away into some difficult corner with Läo, if you mean to leave with me."
The man answered with polite indifference.
"Bronson will see you safely to the motor; I promised my aunt to stay to hear Venzoni; he is sure to be late."
Then they went on up the marble stairs and a young footman was sent with Katherine Bush in the lift at the back of the hall.
"'Gerard'—it is a nice name—and he looks a nice man," she mused, while they were carried aloft, "and he is bored with his wife. Gladys was quite right; why did she have that rag of chiffon? It spoilt the whole dress."
The housekeeper met her when they arrived in the top passage, and took her under her wing.
"Some tea will be sent to your room, miss," she informed her, "and Her Ladyship said she would not have time to see you this evening, but you would doubtless have things to unpack and arrangements to make for yourself. Your trunks will be up in a minute."
And then she opened the door into a back room which faced west, so the afterglow of the setting sun made it not quite dark. There was a fire burning, and it all appeared gay when the housekeeper turned on the lights, with its old-fashioned rose-flowered chintz on a bright parrot-green ground. There was a scent of lavender, too, and Katherine Bush was pleasantly impressed; nothing looked cheap and gimcrack like the bedrooms in Laburnum Villa, she thought, or still more those at the house of Mabel Cawber, which were the envy of Matilda's soul. The furniture here was solid mahogany of early Victorian make, and the armchair gave the impression that it would be a pleasant place to rest in.
When she was alone, Katherine Bush made herself take in every detail. Lady Garribardine had suggested that she was observant; she must remember that and always cultivate this faculty, for she realised that every trifling thing would be different from anything she had ever known.