Lawrence laughed and departed with the assurance that Isidore should know soon enough. He spent the rest of the morning at the club, and after luncheon took his way gaily in the direction of Lytton Avenue.
The Countess was at home, and glad to see her visitor. The back drawing-room was cool and secluded and opened on to the garden. Leona Lalage lounged back in a deep chair and indicated the cigarettes on a table.
"I have told Saunders not to admit any more visitors," she said. "Positively I shall break down if I don't get a rest soon. Does Mamie make too much noise for you! If so, call to Miss Lawrence."
Mamie and Hetty were playing together in the garden. The child was shouting merrily. Fond of children, Lawrence disclaimed any feeling of annoyance.
"Children and dogs never bore me," he said. "I wish I had a garden like yours. Pleasant perfumes always stimulate the imagination. Did you ever notice how the smell of certain flowers recalls vivid recollections?"
A sudden pallor came over the listener's face, it was gone in an instant, and a deep carmine flush succeeded it.
"Sometimes horrible recollections," she said in a low voice. "A certain flower you love gets mixed up with a tragedy, and you never care for it afterwards."
"Of course, I've noticed that," said Lawrence thoughtfully. "For instance, I once was exceedingly fond of the smell of tuberose, but----"
A little ornament fell from the table by Countess Lalage's side and a cry escaped her. Lawrence looked up in mild surprise.
"Nothing the matter, I hope?" he asked.