"It is very well thought of," she approved. "Geoffrey has been very selfish to bring me in an open car which will not take my luggage, and perhaps I am untidy from the wind. I shall arrange myself, and Geoffrey shall bring my cocktail up to me. And there must not be any gin, Geoffrey, but absinthe, for gin is a thing that makes me completely sick."
"I shouldn't think there's any absinthe in the house," said Dinah. "Still, I daresay Finch will think of something.
I'll carry the fur, Geoffrey: you attend to the drink question. I wonder which room you're having, Miss de Silva? We'd better inspect."
Happily there was a housemaid on the landing who had just finished unpacking Miss de Silva's advance baggage, and she was able to direct them. She eyed Lola with the envious admiration she accorded only to film stars, and when Dinah saw the results of her unpacking she was not surprised. The dressing-table was loaded with innumerable toilet jars, scent flagons, brushes, rouge-pots, and powder-bowls, all with opulent enamel fittings. A negligee, very like the one worn by Dawson's favourite star in her last film, was laid reverently over a chair, and in the big mahogany wardrobe was hanging an evening frock that might have come straight from Hollywood.
"Oh, I'm sure she's on the films!" Dawson breathed to Mrs. Moxon in the kitchen. "You never saw anything to equal the dresses she's got. Oh, they're lovely, Mrs. Moxon! they are really! She's like Lupe Velez, that's who she's like. Oo, I wonder if it could be her, under an assumed name — you know how they do?"
"Films!" snorted Mrs. Moxon, banging the rolling-pin on the board with unnecessary force. "She's one of them good-for-nothing cabaret girls, that's what she is. And when you've been in service a bit longer nor what you live, Joan Dawson, you'll have more sense than to go goggling at her sort. Get out of my way, do!"
Upstairs in the sunny bedroom Miss de Silva had thrown the negligee on to the bed, tossed her hat after it, and sat herself down at the dressing-table, anxiously surveying her face in the mirror. "It is terrible!" she announced, and snatched the lid from one of the powder-bowls. "It is not polite to make a complaint, and I therefore I say nothing, for I have very good manners, I assure you, but it should not be permitted that a man should demand of anyone that they motor in an open car. Naturally there must be a wind. I am not unreasonable, and I do not expect there to be no wind, but Geoffrey should have a car which is not open and which will take Concetta as well."
Dinah curled herself up on the window-seat, frankly enjoying Miss de Silva. "I know," she said sympathetically. "Men are so thoughtless, aren't they? I don't suppose he explained about his father either."
"But no: you mistake," Lola corrected her. "It is all explained to me. He is of a type difficult to manage. That one sees."
"Yes," said Dinah, "but — but I'm afraid Geoffrey's father is a little more than difficult."