"She did look like a goddess; but I don't know that you would have liked to have seen her. She made me feel uncommonly small, I do know that."
"That's of course! but that's so easy."
While Mr Davison was thinking of a retort with which to crush his friend--for even a worm will turn--there came a tap at the door. A waiter entered.
"A lady to see M. Davison."
"A lady! To see me! What's her name?"
"She does not give her name. It is a young lady--a pretty young lady." It was the waiter who had found it impossible to avoid commenting on Mr Davison's appearance. It was plain he had not learnt his lesson yet. "She attends in the salon."
The waiter disappeared.
"Bet you a guinea," cried Mr Lintorn, "that it's Mdlle. de Fontanes. Davison, I've almost finished shaving; I'll take this business off your hands if you like."
"Thanks; I'm much obliged. This time I will not trouble you."
It was Mdlle. de Fontanes. When Mr Davison appeared she was standing in the centre of the room. A thick black veil was before her face. That waiter must have had keen eyes to detect the prettiness beneath it. A little packet was in her hand. Opening it, she turned out its contents on the table. There was a little heap of notes and gold.