"Nobody that wasn't born deaf-and-dumb," said Miss Jennings with decision, "could see Mr. Rendle six hours a day for six days a week without knowing every blessed thing about him, and a jolly sight more, from his own lips. His young ladies, and everything! He brought one to Oxford Street, the other day. He told me afterwards—"
"What was she like?" asked Philip instantly.
"I didn't notice her particularly. She was in the show-room looking at motors most of the time, and only stepped into the office for a minute. She was quite simply dressed, it being the morning, but her clothes were good all through. I picked up two or three ideas for myself straight off. Shoes, for one thing. Hers were the neatest I ever saw—brown suède with silver buckles. No cheap American ready-mades, or anything of that kind. As for her coat and skirt, you could see they'd been cut by a tailor, and her hat was one of these simple little things that fit close to the head and look as if they could be put together for half-nothing; but I know better. It came out of—"
"What was she like?" repeated a patient voice.
"I'm trying to tell you," replied Miss Jennings, a little offended.
"Yes, but her appearance? Not her clothes."
Miss Jennings pondered.
"I didn't really have time to notice her appearance," she said at length; "but she was what I should call a middling blonde. She was wearing one of those new blouses, with a V-shaped—"
"I think it must have been Miss Falconer," said Philip, with an air of great detachment.
"Yes, that was the name," replied Miss Jennings. "Mr. Rendle told me he was very sorry for her. He said thousands of gentlemen were in love with her—you know the silly way he talks—"