The girl paused perceptibly. "Ah, there she is!"
They had turned towards Brent, and Julie saw coming towards them, with somewhat rapid steps, a small, elderly lady, gray-haired, her features partly hidden by her country hat.
A thrill passed through Julie. This was the sister whose name her mother had mentioned in her last hour. It was as though something of her mother, something that must throw light upon that mother's life and being, were approaching her along this Swiss road.
But the lady in question, as she neared them, looked with surprise, not unmingled with hauteur, upon her daughter and the stranger beside her.
"Aileen, why did you go so far? You promised me only to be a quarter of an hour."
"I am not tired, mother. Mother, this is Mrs. Delafield. You remember, Uncle Uredale wrote--"
Lady Blanche Moffatt stood still. Once more a fear swept through Julie's mind, and this time it stayed. After an evident hesitation, a hand was coldly extended.
"How do you do? I heard from my brothers of your marriage, but they said you were in Italy."
"We have just come from there."
"And your husband?"