"Oh, certainly," aloud, "not," aside.
"And the name of the maid?" pursued Lucian.
"Her name," referring to the letter, "Céline Leroque—French, I presume."
"No doubt," dryly.
"Stop him, Miss Arthur," interrupted Cora, prettily; "he will certainly ask if she is handsome, if you let him open his mouth again."
Miss Arthur glanced at him suspiciously. "Not having seen her, I could not inform him," she said, coldly.
"Don't believe my sister," said Davlin, quietly, as he passed his cup. "Cora, a little more chocolate, please. Miss Arthur, I met Mrs. Grosvenor at the seaside, two years ago. Her toilets were the marvel of the day; she protested that all credit was due her maid, who was a whole 'magazine of French art.' I thought this might be the same."
"I most earnestly hope that it is," pronounced Miss Arthur.
"And I most earnestly hope it isn't," grumbled her brother, who to-day felt vicious for many reasons, and didn't much care what the occasion was, so long as it gave him an excuse for growling.
At this happy stage of affairs, the door was opened and the housemaid announced: "An old lady, who says I am to tell you that her name is Hagar, wants to see you, sir," addressing Mr. Arthur.