It was after Mr. Davis had left that Miss Mason gradually began to realize what Miss Stanhope’s death and her newly-acquired wealth would mean. She had lived so long in one groove that the possibility of change had never actually occurred to her. At first she had felt almost stunned. But suddenly, in a flash, she saw a new life before her. Every dream of her seventeenth year could be fulfilled. It found expression in one short sentence:
“Shall go to London and take a studio.”
CHAPTER III
THE LADY OF THE BLUE DRESS
MISS Mason was sitting in the lounge of the Wilton Hotel. Mr. Davis—the lawyer—had given her the name of this hotel, telling her that it was both quiet and comfortable.
A tiny cloud had arisen in Miss Mason’s mind. It partially eclipsed the sunshine of her morning mood. She knew vaguely what had caused it.
She had changed her dress on her arrival, donning a black satin gown made in precisely the same style as the cashmere. A lace collar took the place of the linen one. A cameo brooch, large, and set in gold as massive as her watch, superseded the black bow. Miss Mason never wore jewellery except in the evening.
She had dined excellently at a small table in a room adorned with water-colour drawings. Between the courses she had found herself admiring them. She was so intent on them that at first she did not notice the covert smiles which two girls were directing towards her table. When she did, the smiles began to make her feel uncomfortable. At first she wondered if her cap were crooked, or her brooch unpinned, but gradually it dawned on her that it was just she herself who was affording them amusement.
Miss Mason had finished the last morsels of her gooseberry tart hurriedly, had swallowed her glass of light wine, and gone out into the lounge. She told herself that she was an old fool to worry over the little incident, but it had caused a vague anxiety in her mind.
She took up a number of the “Graphic” and began turning the pages. The style of the advertisements displayed within its covers had made her previously imagine the periodical to be exclusively intended for feminine perusal. She had been slightly alarmed before dinner to see a stout elderly gentleman studying it profoundly. A momentary idea took possession of her as to whether it was not her duty to go up to him and warn him regarding the nature of some of the contents, but as she saw it was the middle of the book he was studying, she concluded that someone had already given him a delicate hint regarding the advertisement pages. All the same, she could not imagine the editor of the paper to be a modest man.