Esther starts. "Oh! so I did—I forgot; I meant the air, of course."
Constance looks slightly sceptical, but is too well-bred to pursue her inquiries further; merely saying, languidly, as she rearranges the cushions upon which her stately shoulders rest posed, "Glycerine-cream is the best thing in the world for a chapped face."
"Is it?" answers Essie, guiltily conscious that a little cold water is the only glycerine-cream needed to effect the cure of her chapped face.
"Have you seen St. John since he came?" asks Constance, presently; the links that connect his name with her artificially-reddened countenance being painfully evident to Miss Craven.
"No—yes—no, not to speak to."
"You were out when he came, I suppose, weren't you?"
"No, I was upstairs."
"I have not told him you are here; it will be a surprise to him to meet an old acquaintance."
Esther gives an involuntary start of dismay. "Why did not you tell him?" she asks, hurriedly.
"I! Oh, I don't know; I have the worst memory in the world. I have intended to tell him in every letter, but I have always forgotten."