“Hopeless!” she reflected. “Simply hopeless! Of course she’s good-looking, in a way—but she has absolutely no charm, and no figure.”
Miss Moriarty went on eating with an excellent appetite. She was never talkative. She was quiet, but with a quiet which Serena did not find restful or soothing. She was a tall girl, thin and supple, with a careless grace in every movement. Her face had a gypsy darkness, with high cheek bones, features delicate and yet bold, and black eyes with a scornful light in them. She was dressed in a black skirt, a black jersey, and a plain white blouse—a costume that made her look lanky, thought the dieting Serena; and she had that air of not caring.
“For Heaven’s sake, do talk, my dear!” cried Serena, overcome by exasperation. “I’m all on edge this morning, and it makes me horribly nervous to see you sitting there like a—like a graven image!”
“I’ll try,” said Miss Moriarty obligingly. “Have you seen the delphiniums?”
“Never heard of the things,” said Serena. “Oh, do answer that for me, my dear!”
For the butler had come forward to say that a “generman” wanted to speak to Mrs. Page on the telephone.
There was, inevitably, a telephone in the breakfast room. There were telephones everywhere in that house, so that, in order to speak to a friend perhaps a hundred miles away, one need not have the fatigue of walking more than twenty feet. Geraldine took up the receiver.
“This is Mrs. Page’s secretary,” she said. “Will you give me the message, please?”
“Tell Mrs. Page it’s Sambo,” said a curt and very clear masculine voice.
“It’s Sambo,” repeated Miss Moriarty, turning toward Serena.