They became aware of the waitress standing over them with book and pencil ready for their bill. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. \"Do you want a snack?\" \"No thanks. Oh! I'm in such a fluster!" Upon which, she snatched up her fan, cast a look into the glass, smoothed down her scarf, threw a soft expression into her features, and led the way into the next room, whither she was followed by her daughter and Thames Darrell. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live.
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