He looked at her through half-closed lids, and observed how her milk-white little madonna's face flushed to the roots of her blonde hair.
"Where did she go?"
"Madame meant to go to the dressmaker," the girl stuttered, "and to make some purchases." She avoided his eyes. She had been in service only three months and had not yet perfected herself in lying.
He whistled a tune between his set teeth and entered the drawing-room.
A penetrating perfume streamed forth.
"Open the window, Meta."
She passed noiselessly through the room and executed his command.
Frowning, he looked about him. The empty pomp of the light woman offended his taste. The creature who lived here had a gift for filling every corner with banal and tasteless trivialities.
When he had turned over the flat to her it had been a charming little place, full of delicate tints and the simple lines of Louis Seize furniture. In a few years she had made a junk shop of it.
"Would you care for tea, sir, or anything else?" the girl asked.