“Ah! You have a sister?” said Mrs. Vansittart, turning in her chair and looking at him. A woman's interest in a man's undertaking is invariably centred upon that point where another woman comes into it.
“Yes.”
“Unmarried?”
“Yes; Dorothy is unmarried.”
Mrs. Vansittart gave several quick little nods of the head.
“I am wondering two things,” she said—“whether she is like you, and whether she is interested in this scheme. But I am wondering more than that. Is she pretty, Mr. Roden?”
“Yes, I think she is pretty.”
“I am glad of that. I like girls to be pretty. It makes their lives so much more interesting—to the onlooker, bien entendu, but not to themselves. The happiest women I have known have been the plain ones. But perhaps your sister will be pretty and happy too. That would be so nice, and so very rare, Mr. Roden. I shall look forward to making her acquaintance. I live in The Hague, you know. I have a house in Park Straat, and I am only at this hotel while the painters are in possession. You will allow me to call on your sister when she joins you?”
“We shall be most gratified,” said Roden.
Mrs. Vansittart had risen with a little glance at the clock, and her companion rose also. “I am greatly interested in your scheme,” she said. “Much more than I can tell you. It is so refreshing to find charity in such close connection with practical common sense. I think you are doing a great work, Mr. Roden.”