Freddie Rooke pushed a tousled head, which had yet to be brushed into the smooth sleekness that made it a delight to the public eye, out of a room down the passage.
“Sir?”
“Somebody ringing.”
“I heard, sir. I was about to answer the bell.”
“If it’s Lady Underhill, tell her I’ll be in in a minute.”
“I fancy it is Miss Mariner, sir. I think I recognise her touch.”
He made his way down the passage to the front-door, and opened it. A girl was standing outside. She wore a long gray fur coat, and a filmy gray hood covered her hair. As Parker opened the door, she scampered in like a gray kitten.
“Brrh! It’s cold!” she exclaimed. “Hullo, Parker!”
“Good evening, miss.”
“Am I the last or the first or what?”