"It doesn't in the least matter, Mrs. Wintermill," said Anne amiably. "There isn't much choice."
"How is your mother?"
"Quite well, thank you. And how is Mr. Wintermill?"
"As I was saying, Mrs. Fenn dances beautifully. Percy,—he's really quite silly about dancing,—Percy says she's the best he knows. I do not pretend to dance all of the new ones myself, but—Did you inquire about Mr. Wintermill? He's doing it, too, as they say in the song. By the way, I should have asked before: how is your mother? I haven't seen her in weeks. Good heavens!" The good lady actually turned pale. "It was your husband who died, wasn't it? Not your—but, of course, not. What a relief. You say she's well?"
"You barely missed her. She was here this afternoon."
"So sorry. It is good to have you with us again, Kate. How pretty you are. Do you like the Ritz?"
A bell-boy delivered a huge basket of roses at the door at this juncture. Mrs. Wintermill eyed them sharply as Ludwig paused for instructions. Anne languidly picked up the detached envelope and looked at the card it contained.
"Put it on the piano, Ludwig," she said. "They are from Eddie Townshield," she announced, kindly relieving her visitor's curiosity.
"Really," said Mrs. Wintermill. She sent a very searching glance around the room once more. This time she was not looking for Percy, but for Percy's tribute. She was annoyed with Percy. What did he mean by not sending flowers to Anne Tresslyn? In her anger she got the name right. "Orchids are Percy's favourites, Anne. He never sends anything but orchids. He—"
"He sent me some gorgeous orchids this morning," said Anne.