Mrs. Aliston seated in a big dressing chair, with a tempting breakfast tray drawn close beside her, looked up serene and comfortable, and said, after setting down her porcelain chocolate cup with great care.
"Yes!" with the rising inflection.
"I'm exhausted, bothered, bored," continued the young lady, flinging herself down upon the nearest ottoman. "I wish my old diamonds had never had an existence. I wish Grandmama Wardour had had better sense."
"Have a cup of chocolate," suggested Mrs. Aliston.
"I won't," snapped Constance, belligerently. "I have breakfasted if you please; auntie," lowering her voice to a tone of mock mystery, "we have got another detective in the house."
"So Nelly tells me," reaching out for another roll.
"And, he has breakfasted with me."
Mrs. Aliston laid down the roll, turned for a moment to gaze at her niece; and, reading in that fair upturned face, the fact that its owner was in a state of mutiny against the proprieties and all things else that might come in opposition to her will, she took up her roll and buttered it carefully as she said:
"Well! that's quite like you. What sort of a man is he?"
"Splendid," with a shrug of the shoulders, "smooth as oil, polished as ivory; a Chesterfield in ill fitting clothes."