Nancy leaned forward, her lips apart.

'Queer, wasn't it? Then she went on to say that her name was Mrs.
Damerel; had I ever heard it? No, I couldn't remember the name at
all. She was a widow, she said, and had lived mostly abroad for a
great many years; now she was come back to settle in England. She
hadn't a house of her own yet, but lived at a boarding-house; she
didn't know whether to take a house in London, or somewhere just out
in the country. Then she began to ask about father, and about you;
and it seemed to amuse her when I looked puzzled. She's a jolly sort
of person, always laughing.'

'Did she say anything more about our mother?'

'I'll tell you about that presently. We got to the house, and went
in, and she took me upstairs to her own private sitting-room, where
the table was laid for two. She said that she usually had her meals
with the other people, but it would be better for us to be alone, so
that we could talk.'

'How did she know where to find you?' Nancy inquired.

'Of course I wondered about that, but I didn't like to ask. Well,
she went away for a few minutes, and then we had lunch. Everything
was A-1 of course; first-rate wines to choose from, and a rattling
good cigar afterwards--for me, I mean. She brought out a box; said
they were her husband's, and had a laugh about it.'

'How long has she been a widow?' asked Nancy.