"No, I don't wear them. I think they're definitely unlovely. Do you want to see my mother?"
"Yes, please. But are you quite sure this isn't yours?"
Vicky looked at the hair-slide he was holding in the palm of his hand. "How touching! Absolutely Mother's Good Girl, isn't it? Not one of my acts."
She evidently had no further interest in the slide, so the Inspector put it back in his pocket, and followed her into the house.
Ermyntrude was sitting in the drawing-room with Mary. A number of daily periodicals were piled untidily on a low table beside her, and as soon as she saw Hugh, she exclaimed: "Well, if you're not the very person I was hoping would look in on us! To my mind, it's practically libel, and if I can't sue them there's no justice in England. Look at that!"
Hugh took the newspaper that was being thrust at him. A most unflattering portrait of Prince Varasashvili met his eye, and nearly surprised a laugh out of him.
"'Mrs. Carter's distinguished Russian guest"!" quoted Ermyntrude bitterly. "If they'd said it was Mrs. Carter's boot-boy, it would have been more likely, except that I wouldn't have a boot-boy that looked like a cross between an organ-grinder and a gangster! No, really, Hugh, I am put out! What's more, Alexis particularly told them he was a Georgian, not that it makes a bit of difference to my mind, but you know how touchy foreigners are!" She broke off, perceiving Hemingway, and demanded suspiciously: "Who's that?"
"Darling Ermyntrude, it's an Inspector from Scotland Yard," said Vicky. "His name is Hemingway, and he's rather a lamb, except for nourishing degrading suspicions about me."
The Inspector was startled. "I never!" he said.. "Now, that's not fair, miss!"
"Hair-slides," said Vicky reproachfully. "I call that utterly degrading."