Miss Ingate’s lower lip dropped at the corners.

“You’ve had a tiff.”

“Winnie, we haven’t.”

“Did you go to all his concerts?”

“All.  I heard all his practising, and I sat in the stalls at all his concerts.  Quite contrary to my principles, of course.  But, Winnie, it’s very queer, I wanted to do it.  So naturally I did it.  We’ve never been apart—­until now.”

“And it’s not exaggerated, what you’ve written me about his success?”

“Not a bit.  I’ve been most careful not to exaggerate.  In fact, I’ve tried to be gloomy.  No use, however!  It was a triumph....  And how’s all this business?” Audrey demanded, in a new key, indicating an orange-tinted newspaper bill that was being flaunted in front of her.

“Oh!  I believe it’s dreadful.  Of course, you know Rosamund’s in prison.  But they’ll have to let her out soon.  Jane Foley—­she still calls herself Foley—­hasn’t been caught.  And that’s funny.  I doubled my subscription.  We had to, you see.  But that’s all I’ve done.  They don’t have processions and things now, and barrel organs are quite out of fashion.  What with that, and my rheumatism!...  I used to think I should live to vote myself.  I feel I shan’t now.  So I’ve gone back into water-colours.  They’re very soothing, if you let the paper dry after each wash and don’t take them seriously....  Now, I’m a very common-sense woman, Audrey, as you must have noticed, and I’m not subject to fancies.  Will you just look at the girl on the left hand in this window here, and tell me whether I’m dreaming or not?”

Miss Ingate indicated the shop window which had arrested her.  The establishment was that of a hair specialist, and the window was mainly occupied by two girls who sat in arm-chairs with their backs to the glass, and all their magnificent hair spread out at length over the backs of the chairs for the inspection of the public; the implication being that the magnificent hair was due to the specific of the hair specialist.  Passers-by continually stopped to gaze at the spectacle, but they never stopped long, because the spectacle was monotonous.

“Well, what about her?” said Audrey, staring.

“Isn’t it Lady Southminster?”

“Good heavens!” Audrey’s mind went back to the Channel packet and the rain squall and the scenes on the Paris train.  “So it is!  Whatever can have happened to her?  Let’s go in.”

And in they went, Audrey leading, and demanding at once a bottle of the specific; Audrey had scarcely spoken when the left-hand girl in the window, who, of course, from her vantage had a full view of the shop, screamed lightly and jumped down from the window.

“Don’t give me away!” she whispered appealingly in Audrey’s ear.  The next moment, not heeding the excitement of the shop manager, she had drawn Audrey and Miss Ingate through another door which led into the entrance-hall of the Majestic Hotel.  The shop was thus contrived to catch two publics at once.