“I see you are in mess kit,” she said gayly; “quite a glorified creature to appear in my poor little parlor. Why are you not with Donna Inez? I have heard all about your engagement from Lucy. She was here to-day with Senorita De Gayangos.”
“So I believe,” said Random, still stiffly; “but you see I was anxious to come and see you.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Jasher equably, “you heard that I was ill. Yes; I have been in bed ever since yesterday afternoon, until a couple of hours ago. But I am now better. My dinner has done me good. Pass me that fan, please. The fire is so hot.”
Sir Frank did as he was told, and she held the feather fan between her face and the fire, while he stared at her, wondering what to say.
“Don't you find this atmosphere very stuffy?” he remarked at length. “It would be a good thing to have the windows open.”
Mrs. Jasher shrieked.
“My dear boy, are you mad? I have a touch of the influenza, and an open window would bring about my death. Why, this room is delightfully comfortable.”
“There is such a strong perfume about it,” sniffed Random pointedly.
“I should think you knew that scent by this time, Sir Frank. I use no other and never have done. Smell!” and she passed a flimsy handkerchief of lace.
Random took the handkerchief and placed it to his nostrils. As he did so a strange expression of triumph crept into his eyes.
“I think you told me once that it was a Chinese perfume,” he said, returning the handkerchief.