“Oh, yes,” she said, passing her hand over her eyes. “It makes all go round in my head. One day you will take me for a drive through these wonderful streets. Now I am too tired. They make my head ache.”
Then she shut her eyes again and did not open them until we stopped at Lingfield Terrace. I modified my first impression of her animal unimpressionability. She is quite sane. If Boadicea were to be brought back to life and be set down suddenly at Charing Cross, her psychological condition would not be far removed from that of an idiot. Yet in her own environment Boadicea was quite a sane and capable lady.
My admirable man Stenson opened the door and admitted us without moving a muscle. He would betray no incorrect astonishment if I brought home a hippogriff to dinner. I have an admiration for the trained serving-man’s imperturbability. It is the guardian angel of his self-respect. I ordered him to send Antoinette to me in the drawing-room.
“Antoinette,” said I, “this young lady has travelled all the way from Asia Minor, where the good St. Paul had so many adventures, without changing her things.”
“C’est y Dieu possible!” said Antoinette.
“Give her a nice hot bath, and perhaps you will have the kindness to lend her the underlinen that your sex is in the habit of wearing. You will put her into the spare bedroom, as she is going to pass the night here, and you will look generally after her comfort.”
“Bien, M’sieu,” said Antoinette, regarding Carlotta in stupefaction.
“And put that hat and dress into the dust-bin.”
“Bien, M’sieu.”
“And as Mademoiselle is broken with fatigue, having come without stopping from Asia Minor, she will go to bed as soon as possible.”