‘I am Lady Renshaw; and this is my niece, Miss Wynter.’
Nanette courtesied and went.
Lady Renshaw proceeded to make herself at home, appraising the ornaments on the chimney-piece, peering into a photograph album, turning over a book of engravings, trying a drawer or two in the cabinet, and so on.
‘Really a charming room; quite the best in the hotel, I have been given to understand,’ she remarked. ‘To think of the audacity of this Madame De Vigne in engaging such a room for herself and party! But these adventuresses are nothing if not audacious. Yes, a charming room; and it will suit us admirably. And then the view—oh! the view’—going to the window and peering out through her glasses. ‘It is magnifique—très magnifique.’
Miss Wynter was sitting languidly in an easy-chair: she had a knack of picking out the cosiest and softest chair in a room.
‘But you have not yet told me your reason, aunt’——
‘For wishing to make the acquaintance of this Madame De Vigne. I will enlighten you.’
At this juncture Nanette re-entered the room. ‘Madame will be down in the course of a few minutes, if your ladyship will please to wait.’
‘A French maid, too!’ burst forth Lady Renshaw the moment the girl had left the room. ‘One would like to know how this woman came by her money. Most probably at the gaming-table.’
‘O aunt!’