“No doubt,” he said. But the gravity and uneasiness of his face deepened.
Just then one of the waiters paused beside Mrs Jefferson’s chair. She turned eagerly to him. “Watson,” she said, “just oblige me by going to the drawing-room and finding out if Madame Zairoff is there. I guess,” she added laughingly to Colonel Estcourt, “that I’m not going to waste my time over thirteen courses if she is.”
Still he did not speak, and his unusual pallor and gravity began to affect the lively little American woman. She helped herself to truffled pheasant, and became absorbed in gastronomical duties.
Two or three minutes passed, when the man who had gone on her errand returned. She glanced eagerly up.
“Madame Zairoff is not in the drawing-room,” he said in a low voice. “I met her maid on the stair-case, and she says that madame is not well enough to leave her apartments this evening.”
“But, good gracious me,” began Mrs Jefferson, with angry impatience. “I saw—”
“Hush,” said Colonel Estcourt in a low, impressive voice. “Oblige me by saying nothing about it. Remember, I too was looking in the same direction, yet I saw—nothing.”
Mrs Jefferson dropped her knife and fork and stared at him.
“Now, Colonel,” she said, “am I in my senses, or am I not? I’ve only had iced water to drink. I believe I’m a commonplace person eating a commonplace, though very excellent, dinner. Nothing’s been playing tricks with my nerves I can swear, and I do assure you that the Princess Zairoff stood there in that doorway and looked in here, not five minutes ago. Why, I’ll even tell you the gown she had on. It was thick white silk and had a border of soft-looking white fur. There!” she added triumphantly. “You may go up to her rooms after dinner, and if she hasn’t got that gown on, and if she didn’t come by that doorway—well—I’ll say I’ve gone stark staring mad! That’s so!”