"Yes, and I _am_ so frightened;" and with a little laugh appreciative of
herself in general, Mrs. Delaport Green held up a cup of China tea in a
pretty little white hand belonging to an arm that curved and thickened
from the wrist to the elbow in perfect lines.

Sir Edmund gave the arm the faintest glance of appreciation before it
retreated into lace frills within its brown sleeve. Those lace frills
were the only apparent extravagance in the simple frock in question, and
simplicity was the chief note in this lady's charming appearance.

"I don't believe you are frightened, but probably she is frightened
enough."

"I know nothing whatever about her," sighed the little woman, "and we
are only doing it because we are so dreadfully hard up; my maid says
that I shall soon not have a stitch to my back, and that would be so
fearfully improper. At least"--she hesitated--"I am doing it because
times are bad. Tim really knows nothing about it; I mean that he does
not know that Miss Dexter is a 'paying guest', and it does sound
horribly lower middle-class, doesn't it? But I'm so afraid Tim won't be
able to go to Homburg this year, and he is eating and drinking so much
already, and it's only the beginning of April. What will happen if he
can't drink water and take exercise all this summer?"

"But I suppose you know her name?"

"I believe it is Molly Dexter. And do you think I should say 'Molly' at
once--to-night, I mean?"

Sir Edmund did not answer this question.