A
very fashionably dressed young woman, one of a smart tea party, leaned
back in her chair as he passed and held out her hand.
"And how does town seem, Mr. Tallente, after your sylvan solitude?" she
asked.
Tallente for a moment was almost at a loss. Then a glance into her
really very wonderful eyes, and the curve of her lips as she smiled
convinced him of the truth which he had at first discarded.
"Miss Miall!" he exclaimed.
"Please don't look so surprised," she laughed. "I suppose you think I
have no right to be frivolling in these very serious times, but I am
afraid I am rather an offender when the humour takes me. You kept your
word to Mr. Dartrey, I see?"
Tallente nodded.
"I came to town yesterday."
"I must hear all the news, please," she insisted. "Will you come and
see me to-morrow afternoon? I share a flat with another girl in
Westminster--Number 13, Brown Square."
"I shall be delighted," he answered. "I think your hostess wants to
speak to me. She is an old friend of my aunt."
He moved on a few steps and bowed over the thin, over-bejewelled fingers
of the Countess of Clanarton, an old lady whose vogue still remained
unchallenged, although the publication of her memoirs had very nearly
sent a highly respected publisher into prison.
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