For a moment she could not speak for surprise.
“Well, I never,” she cried, “but London is a funny place. Do you know me, sir?”
“Any one would recognize you from your daughter, if they did not take you for her elder sister,” he said. Bruce’s smile was irresistible.
“My daughter is not in just now, sir,” replied Mrs. Harding, “but I expect her in to tea almost immediately.”
“Then may I come in and await her arrival?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Once inside the flat, he was impressed by the pretentious but fairly comfortable nature of its appointments; the ex-lady’s maid’s legacy must have been a nice one to enable her to live in such style, as the poor pittance of a coryphée would barely pay the rent and taxes. Moreover, the presence of her mother in the establishment was a distinct factor in her favor.
Mrs. Harding had brought the visitor to the tiny sitting-room. She seated herself near the window and resumed some sewing.
“Have you been long in town, Mrs. Harding?” he said, by way of being civil.