"By-the-bye," his neighbour asked him languidly, "who is our hostess?"
"Usually known, I believe, as Lady Ferringhall," Ennison answered,
"unless I have mixed up my engagement list and come to the wrong
house."
"How dull you are," the lady remarked. "Of course I mean, who was
she?"
"I believe that her name was Pellissier," Ennison answered.
"Pellissier," she repeated thoughtfully. "There were some Hampshire
Pellissiers."
"She is one of them," Ennison said.
"Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up."
"In Paris, I think," Ennison answered. "Only married a few months ago
and lived out at Hampstead."
"Heavens!" the lady exclaimed. "I heard they came from somewhere
outrageous."
"Hampstead didn't suit Lady Ferringhall," Ennison remarked. "They have
just taken this house from Lady Cellender."
"And what are you doing here?" the lady asked.
"Politics!" Ennison answered grimly. "And you?"
"Same thing. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John's company. Do
you know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by the
tolerance of these millionaire tradesmen. Our land brings us in
nothing. We have to get them to let us in for the profits of their
business, and in return we ask them to--dinner. By-the-bye, have you
seen this new woman at the 'Empire'? What is it they call
her--'Alcide?'"
"Yes, I have seen her," Ennison answered.
"Every one raves about her," Lady Angela continued. "For my part I can
see no difference in any of these French girls who come over here with
their demure manner and atrocious songs."
"'Alcide's' songs are not atrocious," Ennison remarked.
Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders.
"It is unimportant," she said. "Nobody understands them, of course,
but we all look as though we did. Something about this woman rather
reminds me of our hostess."
Ennison thought so too half an hour later, when having cut out from
one of the bridge tables he settled down for a chat with Annabel.
Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her
head, the play of her eyes startled him. Then he remembered that she
was Anna's sister.
He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her.
"By-the-bye, Lady Ferringhall," he said, "do you know that I am a very
great admirer of your sister's? I wonder if she has ever spoken to you
of me."
The change in Lady Ferringhall's manner was subtle but unmistakable.
She answered him almost coldly.
"I see nothing of my sister," she said. "In Paris our lives were far
apart, and we had seldom the same friends. I have heard of you from my
husband. You are somebody's secretary, are you not?"
It was plain that the subject was distasteful to her, but Ennison,
although famous in a small way for his social tact, did not at once
discard it.