"They had no right to be her mother and her father," said Lady Henry, with grimness.
"Ah! So if one does guess--"
"You'll please hold your tongue."
"But at present I'm completely mystified," said Sir Wilfrid.
"Perhaps it'll come to you later. You've a good memory generally for such things. Anyway, I can't tell you anything now. But when'll you come again? To-morrow--luncheon? I really want you."
"Would you be alone?"
"Certainly. That, at least, I can still do--lunch as I please, and with whom I please. Who is this coming in? Ah, you needn't tell me."
The old lady turned herself towards the entrance, with a stiffening of the whole frame, an instinctive and passionate dignity in her whole aspect, which struck a thrill through her companion.
The little Duchess approached, amid a flutter of satin and lace, heralded by the scent of the Parma violets she wore in profusion at her breast and waist. Her eye glanced uncertainly, and she approached with daintiness, like one stepping on mined ground.
"Aunt Flora, I must have just a minute."