“I think your French friend is most interesting,” remarked Mrs. Dakin, suddenly, putting down her coffee cup, and taking a seat beside Anne on the sofa.
Her hostess turned to her with a pleased smile.
“I’m so glad. You are always appreciative, Madge.”
“I never heard any one talk like you two,” continued Mrs. Dakin, slowly.
“I’m afraid we talked too much.” The quick colour sprang to her cheeks. “I hope you weren’t bored?” She included the two women in a swift, apologetic glance. “Talking too much is an old habit of mine, a habit of long ago, which revives when I see François. I——” she paused suddenly.
“I was never so interested in my life,” said Mrs. Dakin, with such obvious sincerity that Anne’s face cleared.
“Very clever, I’m sure. Very clever,” murmured Mrs. Carfax. “Tell me, my dear, what shall I do about Emma? The girl gets worse and worse. She’s no good at all as a parlourmaid. I’ve been thinking about her all dinner-time, and wondering whether I should give her notice, or whether——”
The entrance of the three men interrupted the heart-searchings of Mrs. Carfax.
Monsieur Fontenelle stood a moment just within the door. His eyes fell upon Mrs. Dakin, who sat in the corner of the sofa, her slender little figure in its white dress showing to advantage against its coloured background.
A tremor of pleasure shook her as he drew up a chair of gilded cane, and leaning over the arm of the sofa, began to talk to her.