Elena Fiske was conscientiously unalluring in the livery affected by intellect in reduced circumstances. Thanks to a cultivated contempt for powder, her good features wore an honest polish. She walked with a stride and looked you in the eye. Erroneously she conceived her opinion of Lucinda to be privately entertained.
"If you're ready for me," she suggested with perfect poise.
"Yes, quite ready."
Elena consulted a sensible note-book. "I was to remind you to telephone Mrs. Rossiter Wade."
"Oh, yes."
Lucinda took up the telephone but only to find the wire already in use; that is to say, somebody in another part of the house was talking without having thought to disconnect the boudoir extension. Recognizing Bel's voice, she would have hung up at once had she not overheard a name.
"Lucky to catch you in, Amelie," Bellamy was saying in the blandishing accents she knew too well. "About our luncheon, you know——"
"See here, Bel: you're not going to put me off at the last minute!"
"Rather not! But for reasons which I confidently leave to your imagination, it might be better to make it any place but the Ritz. What do you say to the Clique? It's at least discreet——"
"But Bel!" the mocking voice of Amelie Severn put in——"we settled on the Clique instead of the Ritz last night, just before you went home. What's happened to the old memory?"