"Weather beastly; every one out of sorts. Awfully slow, if it wasn't for Lady Jean. Hope you and the boy are all right. Ask some people for next month. The Salomans will come back with me.—Yours,
"FRANCIS VAVASOUR
"PS.—Will write and say what date to expect us."
"Husbands don't trouble to write long letters," remarks Lauraine, folding up this curt epistle. "Sir Francis is going to bring the Salomans here next month. I wonder what on earth Lady Jean will do with herself."
"She will organize all sorts of entertainments, and turn the place upside down," answers Lady Etwynde. "Are you going to have a large party?"
"I suppose so. I am sorry for it. I hoped to have a long spell of rest and quiet."
"You will ask your mother, I suppose?"
"My mother?" Lauraine starts and looks uncomfortable. "I—I don't know. I haven't thought about it."
"I wonder what is in the background," thinks Lady Etwynde to herself. "She and her mother don't get on; and there is Keith Athelstone. Did she make Lauraine marry Sir Francis? I should have thought the girl had sufficient strength of mind to hold her own against persuasion. Still one never knows."
Alone in her dressing-room before dinner Lauraine reads again that letter of Keith Athelstone's.