"It's brought here, ma'am, for the Lady Andinnian."
"For whom?" she cried, her voice turning to sharpness with its haste; her face, through her veil, changing to a ghastly white.
The driver stared at her: he thought it was all temper. Lucy looked, too, unable to understand, and slightly coloured.
"For whom did you say the fly was brought?" the lady repeated.
"For Lady Andinnian of Foxwood Court," explained the man in full. "I shouldn't go to tell a untruth about it."
"Oh I--I misunderstood," she said, her voice dropping, her look becoming suddenly timid as a hare's: and in turning away with a sudden movement, she found herself face to face with Lucy. At that same moment, a tall footman with a powdered head--who had strayed away in search of amusement, and strayed a little too far--came bustling up to his mistress.
"This is your fly, my lady."
By which the stranger knew that the elegant girl she had travelled with and whose sweet face was then close to her own, was the young Lady Andinnian. Her own white face flushed again.
"I--I beg your pardon," she said. "I did not know you were Sir Karl Andinnian's wife. The fly, I thought, was only there for hire."
Before Lucy could make any answer, she had disappeared from the spot, and was giving some of her parcels to a porter. Lucy followed.