"Alys," she said abruptly, "I really think you ought to go out to Kentwood—to see about your property out there, I mean."
Mrs. Brewster-Smith looked up, rolling her large eyes in frank amazement.
"Go out there? What for? It isn't the sort of a district a lady cares to be seen in, I'm told; and, besides, George is looking after that for me. He understands such matters, and I frankly own I don't. Business makes me quite dizzy," she added with a flash of very white teeth.
Geneviève hesitated, then went to the point.
"But you must advise with your agent, Alys. The property is yours."
Alys raised sharply penciled brows. "I have utter confidence in George," she answered in a tone of finality that brought an adoring look from Emelene, and her usual Boswellian echo: "Of course."
George squirmed uneasily. Such a vote of confidence implied accepted responsibility, and he acknowledged to himself that he wanted to and would dodge the unwelcome burden. He turned a benign Jovian expression on Mrs. Brewster-Smith and condescended to explain.
"I have considered what is best for you, and I will myself see Allen and request him to take your real-estate affairs in charge again. Neither Sampson nor—er—Eliot is, I think, advisable for your best interests."
At the mention of the last name Genevieve's expressive face stretched to speak; then she closed her lips with self-controlled determination. Mrs. Brewster-Smith looked at her host in scandalized amazement.
"But I told you," she almost whimpered, "that his wife is simply impossible."