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It all sounded sorry nonsense in Hetty's ears, but she was playing her part, and merely talking against the clock. With blazing eyes the Countess advanced, but Hetty did not flinch.¤­×ì¤

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The story flashed like lightning from one end of London to the other. Leona Lalage had been an important personage. Her face was familiar to the society paper window; no report of a great function was complete without a description of her dress. She was a constant source of "copy" to the paragraphists; her dinners and her parties were things to imitate and envy. And now the crash had come.¤¥Ú¥ô¤¤¥¤¤d¤ã

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It was hard work to make anybody hear, especially as a watchful policeman might come along at any moment. But presently a light gleamed behind the stained glass of the front door, and then Hetty's face came into sight. She looked heavy and sleepy, a white wrap was about her shoulders.¤¥¤î

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"Nobody," remarked Arthur, cramming bread and butter into his mouth. "Game off."íÖ®Õ¥¥Ù¤©¤

The soda water hissed and bubbled in the long glass. Leona raised it to her lips and drained it to the last drop. A little splash of colour crept into her scarred cheek, she drew a long, shuddering sigh.±ë¤¨©ä½