Mrs. Devar was building better than she knew. Cynthia laughed, though not with the whole-souled merriment that was music in Medenham’s ears.
“She has been properly punished; I forgot to tip her,” she explained.
“Count Edouard would see to that——”
“He didn’t. I noticed what he paid—out of sheer curiosity. Perhaps I ought to send her something.”
“My dear Cynthia!”
But dear Cynthia was making believe to be quite amused by a notion that had just suggested itself. She leaned forward in the darkness and touched Medenham’s shoulder.
“Do you happen to know the name of the waitress who brought you some tea at Cheddar?” she asked. “None of us gave her anything, and I hate to omit these small items. If I had her name I could forward a postal order from Bristol.”
“There is no need, Miss Vanrenen,” said Medenham. “I handed her—well, sufficient to clear all claims.”
“You did? But why?”