Bryan would wish me
to see her!" When the page-boy was gone, she turned to the mirror and
looked at herself doubtfully. She seemed to know exactly what that tall
woman whom she had seen on the platform would think of her--too soft,
not capable, not right for him!--not even if she were legally his wife.
And touching her hair, laying a dab of scent on her eyebrows, she turned
and went downstairs fluttering, but outwardly calm enough.
In the little low-roofed inner lounge of that old hotel, whose rooms
were all "entirely renovated," Gyp saw her visitor standing at a table,
rapidly turning the pages of an illustrated magazine, as people will
when their minds are set upon a coming operation. And she thought: 'I
believe she's more frightened than I am!'
Lady Summerhay held out a gloved hand.
"How do you do?" she said. "I hope you'll forgive my coming."
Gyp took the hand.
"Thank you. It was very good of you. I'm sorry Bryan isn't in yet. Will
you have some tea?"
"I've had tea; but do let's sit down. How do you find the hotel?"
"Very nice."
On a velvet lounge that had survived the renovation, they sat side by
side, screwed round toward each other.
"Bryan's told me what a pleasant time you had abroad. He's looking very
well, I think. I'm devoted to him, you know."
Gyp answered softly:
"Yes, you must be." And her heart felt suddenly as hard as flint.
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