Miss Van Tuyn thought of Lausanne, of doctors. Many women whom she knew in Paris swore by the doctors of Berne and Lausanne. There were wonderful treatments now for old women. Extraordinary things were done with monkey glands and other mysterious preparations and inoculations. Was not Adela’s manner changed? Did she not diffuse an atmosphere of intention, of vigour, which had not been hers before? Did she not seem younger?
“Did you stay long at the Beau Rivage?” she asked.
“Yes, I did.”
“We have missed you.”
“I like to think that.”
“London loses its most characteristic note for me when you are not in it.”
Miss Van Tuyn’s curiosity was becoming intense, but how could she gratify it? She sought about for an opening, but found none. For it was seldom her way to be quite blunt with women, though with men she was often blunt.
“Everyone has been wondering where you were,” she said. “Mr. Braybrooke was quite in a turmoil. Does he know you are back?”
“I haven’t told him. But he gets to know everything in less than five minutes. And what have you been doing?”
This simple question suddenly gave Miss Van Tuyn the idea for a plan of campaign. It sprang into her brain, flashed upon it like an inspiration. For a moment she was rigid. Her body was strongly influenced. Then as the idea made itself at home in her she became supple and soft again.