"Your husband is awake," he said, abruptly.
Her hand dropped.
"I think, I'm sure, that if he knew I was here he would be very glad to see me. I know you'll tell him, and let him decide for himself."
"But I'm sure he is asleep. I left him asleep."
"That bell—"
She smiled.
"Oh, that wasn't Nigel! That was my French maid. She's very glorified here. She makes Hamza attend upon her, hand and foot."
As she spoke, Isaacson remembered the words in Nigel's letter: "She packed off her French maid so as to be quite free."
"Oh, your maid!" he said.
And his voice was colder, firmer.