The servant’s unexpected question put an idea into Desmond’s head. He could not return to the club, he reflected, since he was supposed to be killed in action. Why not take a room in this house in the heart of the enemy’s country and spend some days on the watch for Mrs. Malplaquet or for any clue that might lead him to her?
So Desmond answered, yes, it was about the rooms he had come.
Promising that she would tell “the missus,” the little servant showed him into a tiny sitting-room, very clean and bright, with blue cretonne curtains and a blue carpet and an engraving of “King Cophetua and The Beggar Maid” over the mantelpiece. Directly you came into the room, everything in it got up and shouted “Tottenham Court Road.”
Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, a stoutish, brisk-looking woman sailed in. The tinkling proceeded from the large amount of cheap jewelry with which she was adorned; the rustling from a black and shiny glacé silk dress. With every movement she made the large drops she wore in her ears chinked and were answered by a melodious chime from the charm bangles she had on her wrists.
She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemed to please her for she smiled as she said in rather a mincing voice:
“My (she pronounced it ‘may’) maid said you wished to see the rooms!”
Desmond intimated that such was his desire.
“Pray be seated,” said the little woman: “You will understand, I’m sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying guests, but may husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this sitting-room free and ay thought...”
She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond.
“You are an officer, I think” she asked.