CHAPTER VII
“MISS FAY MORRIS THAT WAS”
It was still only a little past five when the two men departed, and Claudia found herself alone with a very restless mood. Had it been earlier she would have gone out and walked in the Park, for she often tramped away a mood of restlessness. But it was grey and dismal outside. She glanced at the piano, but that was not the right thing. She picked up her book—one of Anatole France’s—but that also she put down again in a very few minutes. Then the idea came to her. Her eyes opened widely and she caught her under-lip with her small teeth. Would she?
Billie looked at her, and he knew she was going out.
“No, Billie, can’t take you this time. Oh! well, yes, you can stop in the car.”
“What hat will madame wear?” said Johnson, her hand on the cupboard that contained her hats.
Claudia considered carefully, and decided on her most becoming one. It was a delightful possession, mostly composed of pearl-grey feather shading to the softest pink, and round her neck she wore a little necklet to match. Johnson wondered why she was so excited that she pulled a button off her gloves and demanded a fresh pair. It seemed as though her mistress was not going to make an ordinary call.
“Now, Billiken, we must be off. I wonder! I wonder!”
She went over first to her writing-table and abstracted a little bit of paper. Jack’s writing was atrocious, but she could decipher it with some difficulty. 25A, Gilchrist Mansions, Bloomsbury.