“Both characters are in abeyance for the moment. I have doffed my petticoats—and my cloth likewise. Won’t you sit down?”
I accepted a seat composedly.
“It would seem,” I remarked, “that I have come to the wrong address.”
“From your point of view, I am afraid you have. Really, Miss Beddingfeld, to fall into the trap a second time!”
“It was not very bright of me,” I admitted meekly. Something about my manner seemed to puzzle him.
“You hardly seem upset by the occurrence,” he remarked dryly.
“Would my going into heroics have any effect upon you?” I asked.
“It certainly would not.”
“My great-aunt Jane always used to say that a true lady was neither shocked nor surprised at anything that might happen,” I murmured dreamily. “I endeavour to live up to her precepts.”
I read Mr. Chichester-Pettigrew’s opinion so plainly written on his face that I hastened into speech once more.
“You really are positively marvellous at makeup,” I said generously. “All the time you were Miss Pettigrew I never recognized you—even when you broke your pencil in the shock of seeing me climb upon the train at Cape Town.”
He tapped upon the desk with the pencil he was holding in his hand at the minute.
“All this is very well in its way, but we must get to business. Perhaps, Miss Beddingfeld, you can guess why we required your presence here?”