“We swore we’d go to Madame Sop’s to-night, you know.” Madame Sop was a Madame Sopwith, a lady of uncertain age and Oriental appearance, who gave card-parties.
Duplessis said, “You must make my excuses—if she wants ’em. I’m going.”
“A woman, of course,” said Bramleigh, tapping a cigarette—but had no answer. Duplessis caught the Sun express, and, travelling straight through, reached Misperton Brand in less than two days.
On the afternoon of the third day he was at the door of the little house, Heath View, in Blackheath. The door was open, and within the frame of it stood a tall young woman with hair elaborately puffed over the ears and a complexion heightened by excitement.
“Good-afternoon,” says Duplessis. “Miss Middleham at home?”
“Yes,” says Jinny, “she is. Will you come in?”
He followed her into the parlour and was offered a chair. “Thanks very much,” he said, but did not take it. He stood by the window, and Jinny Middleham stood by the door.
Presently Jinny said, “I am Miss Middleham, you know. Or perhaps you didn’t know it.” Duplessis stared, then recovered.
“I beg your pardon. No, I didn’t grasp that. But you’re not my Miss Middleham.”
“I didn’t know that you had one,” said Jinny. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”