“Maison Lucille, New Bond Street, West,” Staff read aloud, completely bewildered. “But I never heard of the d—— the place!”
Helplessly he sought Milly’s eyes, and helpfully Milly rose to the occasion.
“Nossir,” said she; and that was all.
“I know nothing whatever about the thing,” Staff declared severely. “It’s all a mistake. Take it away—it’ll be sent for as soon as the error’s discovered.”
A glimmer of intelligence shone luminous in Milly’s eyes. “Mebbe,” she suggested under inspiration of curiosity—“Mebbe if you was to open it, you’d find a note or—or something.”
“Bright girl!” applauded Staff. “You open it. I’m too busy—packing up—no time—”
And realising how swiftly the golden minutes were fleeting beyond recall, he cast desperately about for his pipe.
By some miracle he chanced to find it, and so resumed packing.
Behind him, Milly made noises with tissue-paper.
Presently he heard a smothered “O sir!” and looked round to discover the housemaid in an attitude of unmitigated adoration before what he could not deny was a perfect dream of a hat—the sort of a hat that only a woman or a society reporter could do justice to. In his vision it bore a striking resemblance to a Gainsborough with all modern improvements—as most big hats do to most men. Briefly, it was big and black and trimmed with an atmosphere of costly simplicity, a monstrous white “willow” plume and a huge buckle of brilliants. It impressed him, hazily, as just the very hat to look ripping on an ash-blonde. Aside from this he was aware of no sensation other than one of aggravated annoyance.