"I thought it was a ghost!" gasped Mrs. Verulam convulsively. "Oh dear, I should like to cry!"
"There isn't time. I've got dreadful things to whisper. Can't we sit down?"
She felt cautiously for a seat.
"Here's a—no, it's an umbrella-stand, we can't sit on that."
"There's something comfortable here," whispered Mrs. Verulam, and she sank down gently on a large cactus in a porcelain tub.
Her resurrection was instant, and was accompanied by a strangled wail that reached the ears of the nodding Duchess. Her Grace started, grasped the curl-papers in a frenzied manner, and tried to recall who she was and what she was doing. This took time, and meanwhile Mrs. Verulam and Chloe had at last found a large armchair, in which they both gingerly ensconced themselves.
"Now," whispered Mrs. Verulam, "I must tell you——"
"And I you, that——"
"Mr. Rodney has heard from Lord Bernard Roche. Don't pinch me. Oh! oh!"
"Lord Bernard! What does he say? Tell me, tell me quickly!"