She turned on the electric light with her own hands, and let a flood of soft light upon the silk-panelled walls, pale blue and pink set in white enamel; upon the exquisite mantelpiece with its picture above in the manner of Fragonard; the dainty Sèvres clocks, all telling a different time; the cushions, couches, boudoir piano in a painted case, and all the other luxurious trifles that make up so much of the happiness of women of Lady Sarah’s type.
Suddenly the dainty mistress of the place threw herself upon a couch, and beckoned with pretty imperiousness to Rhoda to sit beside her.
“Come here,” she said. “I want to ask you something.”
She had not yet divested herself of her hat and scarf, though she had thrown off her travelling cloak and given it to her maid as soon as she entered the house, even before receiving the welcoming kiss of Sir Robert.
Now she began to pull off her gloves, and as Rhoda slowly obeyed the invitation and sat down beside her, Lady Sarah suddenly bent her head, and said with infantile prettiness:
“Do help me to find the hatpins. I’ve been wearing this terrible hat all day!”
The little task was performed without the least difficulty, as the hatpins in question were huge discs of tortoiseshell and gold impossible to overlook. Then Lady Sarah, thanking her profusely, put the hat beside her on the couch, and ruffling up her dark hair with a sigh of relief, put one little white hand sparkling with diamonds through Rhoda’s arm, and said coaxingly:
“And now do tell me what made you think of coming to us?”
“Oh-ho!” thought Rhoda. “This, then, is the reason of my amiable reception! You are curious.”
But all she said was: