maid.

"For mercy's sake, undress me. I am a mass of dust, and looking
perfectly dreadful. Is the bath ready?" she asked, as the girl, who had
come running, showed her into a good-sized bedroom.

The maid, who was not the red-eyed maid Nigel had met at the Savoy,
shrugged up her small shoulders, and extended her little, greedy hands.

"It is ready, madame; but the water--oh, _là, là!_"

"What's the matter. What do you mean?"

"The water is the colour of madame's morning chocolate."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Armine, almost with a sound of despair.

She sank into a chair, taking in with a glance every detail of the
chamber, which had been furnished and arranged by a rich and consumptive
Frenchman who had lived there with his mistress and had recently died at
Cairo.

"Bring me the mirror from my dressing-case, and get me out of this
gown."

Marie hastened to fetch the mirror, into which, after unpinning and
removing her hat and veil, Mrs. Armine looked long and earnestly.

"There are no women servants, madame."