looking at me in a vaguely troubled way, and it was easy to guess that she was wondering what construction I should place upon it. However:
“I am going into the town,” declared Madame de Stämer, energetically. “Half the things ordered from Hartley’s have never been sent.”
“Oh, Madame, please let me go,” cried Val Beverley.
“My dear,” pronounced Madame, “I will not let you go, but I will let you come with me if you wish.”
She rang a little bell which stood upon the tea-table beside the urn, and Pedro came out through the drawing room.
“Pedro,” she said, “is the car ready?”
The Spanish butler bowed.
“Tell Carter to bring it round. Hurry, dear,” to the girl, “if you are coming with me. I shall not be a minute.”
Thereupon she whisked her mechanical chair about, waved her hand to dismiss Pedro, and went steering through the drawing room at a great rate, with Val Beverley walking beside her.
As we resumed our seats Colonel Menendez lay back with half-closed eyes, his glance following the chair and its occupant until both were swallowed up in the shadows of the big drawing room.
“Madame de Stämer is a very remarkable woman,” said Paul Harley.
“Remarkable?” replied the Colonel. “The spirit of all the old chivalry of France is imprisoned within her, I think.”
He passed cigarettes around, of a long kind resembling cheroots and wrapped in tobacco leaf. I thought it strange that having thus emphasized Madame’s nationality he did not feel it incumbent upon
