“Go downstairs and get me a couple of stalls for the Haymarket this evening.”
The neat French girl retired with the order. Minna went to the window and drummed against the pane, gazing abstractedly at the busy embankment crossing just below, the train creeping over Hungerford Bridge, the flaring posters against the Avenue Theatre.
“How hateful everything is,” she said to herself. But she remained by the window for occupation’s sake. Then Justine, the maid, entered. There were no stalls. They had telephoned. If Mademoiselle would like a box——
“Oh, yes,” said her mistress, irritably. “That will do.”
She had invited Mrs. Delamere to dinner and theatre. An irrational impulse of politeness had caused her to leave to her guest the choice of entertainment. Mrs. Delamere had expressed a desire to see a much talked-of piece at the Haymarket before her expatriation. Minna had a foreboding of depression. The Empire or the Gaiety would have better suited her mood; also a bottle of champagne afterwards in the company of some amusing men. As the prospect interested her but slightly, she had characteristically delayed to get tickets till the last moment. She looked at her watch. Half-past five. She waited by the window until Justine returned with the box-tickets.
“I’ll come and dress,” said Minna; “it will be something to do.”
“It is true that one does not amuse oneself in London,” said Justine, answering the implication.
“It is the most odious place on the earth; I sigh for Nice.”
“I also, Mademoiselle. But Nice will be dull when we return.”.
“We’ll shut up the villa and go to Aix-les-Bains for the Russian season.”