'Supper—ah—à la carte—salmi of guinea fowl, Ris d'Agneau, sauce champignon, and some Moselle. Meantime, ask for his lordship.'
The waiter grinned in what Alison thought a disagreeable manner, and disappeared with his towel over his arm.
The decorations of the little room were very handsome. The hangings were of blue silk, the floor was polished oak, and the chairs were all lounges of blue velvet, but some of the statuettes on brackets and consoles were, to say the least of them, a little startling in design.
'This is a very strange place,' said Alison. 'I cannot imagine what induced Lord Cadbury to select it.'
'Have you been in this part of the world long?' asked Sir Jasper, as he divested himself of his light dust-coat.
'A few weeks—I was about to say years.'
'Poor girl! Has the time been so slow?'
'Well,' said Alison, haughtily, as she disliked his pitying tone, 'I have the old and ailing——'
'Cadbury to nurse—surely not?'
'Of course not, sir. How could you suppose that?'