CHAPTER V
ARCHIBALD TRAVERS PLAYS BRIDGE
The ayah put the last touches to Beatrice Cary's golden hair, drew back a little to judge the general effect, and then handed her mistress the handglass.
"Is that well so, missy?" she asked. "Missy look wonderful to-night—wonderful!"
Beatrice examined herself carefully and critically, without any show of impatience. Only a close observer would have noticed that her eyes had the strained, concentrated look of a person whose thoughts are centered elsewhere than on the immediate subject.
"Yes, that will do," she assented, after a moment. "You have done extra well to-night. You can go."
"Not help missy with dress?"
"No, you can go. I shall only want you again when I come back."
The ayah fidgeted with the garments that lay scattered about the room, but an imperative gesture hastened her exit, and she slipped silently from the room, drawing the curtains after her.
Beatrice watched her departure in the glass, and then, turning in her chair, looked at the languid, exhausted figure upon the couch.