“Mrs. McLane is downstairs, Madame.”
Ethel paused, conscious-smitten. “Oh, I asked Lois to lunch with me, thinking you were going to the Van Alstynes’ today, Cousin Jane, and I never thought of it again until this minute.”
“I am glad you did, I like Lois McLane,” answered Mrs. Ogden. “Ask her to come upstairs to Miss Ethel’s room, Celeste.” She waited until the maid had disappeared, then turned to Ethel. “What about this miniature business? You never told me you had one of yourself.”
“I—I—meant to,” stammered Ethel, taken by surprise. “I will some day.”
“Who made it?” Mrs. Ogden was not to be put off.
“The artist? I don’t recall his name,” Ethel brushed a stray curl into place. “The miniature was a—a surprise to me, Cousin Jane.”
“Humph! Jim Patterson was always doing the unexpected,” Mrs. Ogden, deterred by Ethel’s manner from too close questioning, was trying by indirect means to elicit information. “Did he give you the ring, too?”
“No.”
Mrs. Ogden left her chair and faced Ethel. “Did Julian Barclay give you the ring?” she demanded, looking straight at her, but evasion was far from Ethel’s mind.
“He did,” she said simply. Her eyes, however, told more than she knew, and Mrs. Ogden suddenly saw her through a mist of tears.