“Audrey,” said Lady Frances, turning to her daughter, “who is that girl?”
“I cannot tell you, mother. Her name is Sylvia Leeson. She lives somewhere near, I suppose.”
“She is fairly well-bred, and undoubtedly handsome,” said Lady Frances. “I was attracted by her appearance, but when I asked her if I might call on her mother she seemed distressed. She said her mother was dead, and that I was not to call.”
“Poor girl!” said Audrey. “You upset her by talking about her mother, perhaps.”
“I do not think that was it. Do you know anything at all about her, Audrey?”
“Nothing at all, mother, except that I suppose she lives in the neighborhood, and I am sure she is desperately poor.”
“Poor, with that dress!” said Lady Frances. “My dear, you talk rubbish.”
Audrey opened her lips as if to speak; then she shut them again.
“I think she is poor notwithstanding the dress,” she said in a low voice. “But where is she? Has she gone?”
“She bade me good-night a minute ago and ran up-stairs.”