“It was not that I did not want you to go out, madame, but I feared it would exhaust you, dining with company.”
“Is there company?” Molly asked disappointedly.
“The Barrys, madame.”
“Do they come here often, Florine?”
“Do you mean the Barrys, madame?”
“Yes.”
“They are here every day, or nearly so; and when they fail to come here, Madame Laurens, your mamma, and Monsieur Cecil, your husband, go to them. It is fortunate for monsieur, your husband, that he has such a dear friend as Miss Barry to amuse him while you, madame, are sick,” smoothly.
Molly’s heart began to beat loudly, the angry color to flood her cheeks.
“She does not amuse him,” she said hotly, and Florine arched her brows in surprise.
“As madame wills, but I thought she would be pleased,” she said, apologetically.