She had been very beautiful. She still was handsome in a hard-lipped, bold way, with abundant raven hair and a complexion that would have been no worse for a touch of rouge. She seemed to scorn all the conventional refinements, though. Her lacy white dress, open at the neck, was creased and not too clean, but she wore in her bosom one great jewel like a ruby, set in brilliants, that gave the lie to poverty provided the gems were real. And the amber tube through which she smoked a cigarette was seven or eight inches long and had diamonds set in a gold band round its middle. She wore no wedding ring that I could see; and she took no more notice of Will Yerkes beside her than if he had been a part of the furniture.
"Why do you ask?" asked Monty, starting upstairs. She had to make way for him, for Will Yerkes stood his ground.
"A fair question!" she laughed. Her voice had a hard ring, but was very well trained and under absolute control. I received the impression that she had been a singer at some time. "I am Lady Saffren Waldon—Isobel Saffren Waldon."
Fred and I had followed Monty up and were close behind him. I heard him mutter, "Oh, lord!" under his breath.
"I knew your brother," she added.
"I know you did."
"You think that gives me no claim on your acquaintance? Perhaps it doesn't. But as an unprotected woman—"
"There is the Residency," objected Monty, "and the law."
She laughed bitterly. "Thank you, I am in need of no passage home! I overheard that ruffian say, and I think I heard you say too that you are going to England. I want you to take a message for me."
"There is a post-office here," said Monty without turning a hair. He looked straight into her iron eyes. "There is a cable station. I will lend you money to cable with."