she greatly desired some. We women are selfish in some things, my dear man. It's a most delicious perfume.”
“Yes,” said Sir Frank, staring at her, “and very strong.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. Only I should think that such a perfume would be good for the cold you contracted by going to London last night.”
Mrs. Jasher turned suddenly pale under her rouge, and her hand clenched the fan so tightly as to break the handle.
“I have not been to London for quite a month,” she faltered. “What a strange remark!”
“A true one,” said the baronet, fumbling in the pocket of his jacket. “You went to London last night by the seven o'clock train to post this,” and he held out the anonymous letter.