“Hullo, it’s you!” she said, answering herself to Marian’s ring. “Come along in. The girl’s out and I’m all alone and lonely.”
She led the way into a small sitting room, comfortably but somewhat gaudily furnished and decorated; a bright fire burned in the small grate; an incandescent gas light glared on each side of the overmantel; on the round table in the center were a dilapidated flower in a crimson pot; an ash tray, full to overflowing with cigarette ends and ashes; and, on a dirty cheap Japanese tray, a half-empty siphon of soda water, a bottle of brandy three parts full, and a tumbler.
“I’m in an awful mess, I always am!” Mrs. Harding exclaimed, as she picked a newspaper and a novel out of an armchair and flung them on the sofa. “There, do sit down. Look at me too, but this old tea gown is comfy. I hope you’ve had your tea?—Eh?”
“Just finished it.”
“Good, for there isn’t a drop of hot water ready. I’m not much of a tea fighter myself—a B. and S. is more in my line. Have one? No? Well, smoke anyway. Here’s a new sort the old man brought along: they’re not bad; they’re like him, not bad but might be better. Though I mustn’t grumble at him now, for he just ran up to give me these and to say he’s off for a week.”
“Is he? Then I’m in luck, for I’m alone too. Can’t we go out and dine somewhere?”
“Why, yes. We’ll go to the Inferno, as I call it; we’re sure to meet some pals; at least I shall, and I’ll introduce them if you like.”
“Of course I should. I haven’t been there for an age, and I do want some fun.”
“Getting tired of Georgie? He is a bit serious.”
“Well, I think I shall appreciate him all the more if I don’t see too much of him.”