Still walking automatically, Aliette found herself facing the mahogany door of Julia's house, and rang the bell.
"Yes," said Kate, "Mrs. Cavendish was at home, and alone. Would Mrs. Ronnie" (it was an understood thing in the basement of Bruton Street that Aliette should be referred to as "Mrs. Ronnie") "like some tea?"
"Thank you, Kate. That would be very nice." Aliette, unannounced, went slowly up the print-hung staircase; tapped on the drawing-room door; heard a faint "Come in"; and turned the handle.
Ronnie's mother lay on the sofa. She looked white, exhausted; but her lips framed themselves to a smile.
"I may come in, mayn't I?" Aliette's misery increased at the sight of her hostess's pallor. "Kate's promised to bring me some tea. I'm not disturbing you, am I?"
"My dear, you're always welcome. Come and sit here by me." Julia made place on the sofa, and Aliette sat down.
"I wonder why she came this afternoon," mused the elder woman. "I wonder if, by any chance, she can have found out. Awkward, if she has found it. Very awkward." But there was no tremor of guilt in her, "How's Ronnie?"
"Quite well, thank you."
"And you?"
"Oh, I'm all right. A little worried, that's all."