"A lady!" ejaculated Mr. Hedderwick. "This promises well——"
His wife's eye compelled him again to his seat. "I think, Robert, if you evinced less interest in such a subject it would be more seemly. The female in question asked if she might wait, as she wished to beg a subscription for an anti-suffragist league. I am in sympathy with such an object and allowed her to remain. In the course of our conversation she referred to an article on dress in one of the women's papers. I happened to have the journal and offered to fetch it; she agreed, thinking that the plate of a new blouse might suit my style."
"So you left her alone!" broke in Lionel.
"For a bare two minutes. When I returned she was still there. We discussed the blouse for a while, and presently she said that she must go, but would return later."
"Plagiarist!" said Beatrice with a smile. "Did you happen to notice how she was dressed?"
"I never notice such things," said Mrs. Hedderwick with dignity. "Dress is not one of my foibles. But after she had gone I picked up a handkerchief which I suppose she had dropped. It was marked——"
"Wait!" said Mr. Hedderwick suddenly. "What is her name?" he asked, turning to Beatrice.
"Whose, Robert?" queried his wife.
"Oh, bother!" he said, irritation lending him courage. "Your maid's."
"Mizzi Schmidt."