“So much the better. That woman’s a cat, mon cher. Sleek fur, claws and all.”
“Madame Didier? I agree,” returned François with a laugh. “The typical English devotee of Mrs. Grundy. Louis goes in mortal fear of her.”
“Tant pis!” exclaimed the Vicomte, with an accent of commiseration.
X
Towards the middle of December, Mrs. Carfax became possessed with the idea of going to London.
Various circumstances had combined to render her projected visit pleasurably fraught with interest.
There was shopping to be done, of course. There was also Sylvia to embrace;—Sylvia whose holidays were so short that she herself had suggested the advisability of staying in town for Christmas, in order not to interrupt her work.
Naturally Mrs. Carfax was anxious to see her child. Naturally also she looked forward to staying with the Lovells, who were old friends, and had a comfortable house in Bayswater.
Then too, she had been deeply interested to hear that the niece who was visiting Mrs. Lovell, was none other than the Madame Didier who had invited Mrs. Dakin to Paris.
Mrs. Dakin had not yet returned to Dymfield, and it was natural and neighbourly of Mrs. Carfax to feel as much interest in her protracted absence, as that which palpitated in every Dymfield breast. In a few days she would be in the position of knowing all that Madame Didier knew about her late guest. And then there was Sylvia of course, and the shopping, and the delight of meeting her dear friends the Lovells. Mrs. Carfax was quite determined to go.