“It’s certainly an odd chance brought you to the same hotel,” agreed Nick.
“Is it not?”—delightedly.
And, from the frank wonder and satisfaction she evinced at the coincidence, no one could possibly have surmised that the sole cause and origin of her “flying visit” was a short paragraph contained in the Morning Post, a copy of which, by her express order, had been delivered daily at Chateau Varigny ever since her return thither from the Swiss Alps. The paragraph referred simply to the arrival at Claridge’s of Lady Anne Brennan, accompanied by her two sons and Miss Jean Peterson.
“And are you making a long stay in London?” enquired Madame de Varigny.
Lady Anne shook her head.
“No. We go back to Staple to-morrow.”
The other’s face fell.
“But how unfortunate! I shall then see nothing of my dear Mees Peterson.”
She seemed so distressed that Lady Anne’s kind heart melted within her, albeit it accorded ill with her plans to increase the number of her party.
“We are going on to the theatre,” she said impulsively. “If you have no other engagement, why not come with us? There will be plenty of room in our box.”