In spite of loitering Anne arrived at the hotel quite two hours before luncheon, and after divesting herself of a frock that would send Mrs. Nunn into hysterics if her news did not, she went to her aunt’s room.
Mrs. Nunn, fresh from her sulphur bath, was reclining on a sofa in her large cool room, where the jalousies were half closed, and dawdling over Godey’s Lady’s Book, a fashion magazine printed in the United States, which found great favour in her eyes.
“My dear Anne,” she said languidly, “I suppose you breakfasted with Miss Ogilvy. La! La! You are more burnt than ever. Your face is quite red. And I would have you well bleached before the London season. Pray sit down. It affects my nerves to see you wander about like that.”
Anne took a chair facing her aunt. “I did not breakfast with Miss Ogilvy. I have been talking to Mr. Warner all the morning.”
“Heavens! what a waste of time, when you might have been talking to Hunsdon in the morning-room. It was quite empty. Maria has Mr. Warner in charge. I hope you have not been walking about with him. You know I told you——”
“No one saw us. We talked up in one of the jungles.”
“One of the jungles!” Mrs. Nunn sat up. “I never heard anything sound so horrid. Do you tell me that you have the habit of sitting in jungles—dear me—with young gentlemen! I forbid you to go out again unattended.”
“This was the first time.”
“It assuredly will be the last.”
“I think not. Mr. Warner has a hut in the jungle and I am going to marry him.”