ledon, who was easily pleased, and rather tolerant of neglect in
French hotels. "Is not that the right word, Maude? You took me to task
yesterday for saying garret. The servants are run off their legs."

"Then the hotel should keep more servants. I am quite sick of having to
ring twice. A week ago I wished I was out of the place."

"My dear Maude, why did you not say so? If you'd like to go on at once to
Germany--"

"Lettres et journal pour monsieur," interrupted a waiter, entering with
two letters and the _Times_.

"One for you, Maude," handing a letter to his wife. "Don't go," he
continued to the waiter; "we want some more chocolate; this is cold. Tell
him in French, Maude."

But Lady Hartledon did not hear; or if she heard, did not heed; she was
already absorbed in the contents of her letter.

"Ici," said Hartledon, pushing the chocolate-pot towards the man, and
rallying the best French he could command, "encore du chocolat. Toute
froide, _this_. Et puis depechez vous; il est tarde, et nous avons besoin
de sortir."

The man was accustomed to the French of Englishmen, and withdrew without
moving a muscle of his face. But Lady Hartledon's ears had been set on
edge.

"_Don't_ attempt French again, Val. They'll understand you if you speak
in English."

"Did I make any mistake?" he asked good-humouredly. "I could speak French
once; but am out of practice. It's the genders bother one."

"Fine French it must have been!" thought her ladyship. "Who is your
letter from?"

"My bankers, I think. About Germany, Maude--would you like to go there?"

"Yes. Later. After we have been to London."

"To London!"

"We will go to London at once, Percival; stay there for the rest of the
season, and then--"

"My dear," he interrupted, his face overcast, "the season is nearly over.
It will be of no use going there now."

"Plenty of use. We shall have quite six weeks of it. Don't look cross,
Val; I have set my heart upon it."

"But have you considered the difficulties? In the first place, we have no
house in town; in the second--"

"Oh yes we have: a very good house."

Lord Hartledon paused, and looked at her; he thought she was joking.
"Where is it?" he asked in merry tones; "at the top of the Monument?"

"It is in Piccadilly," she coolly replied. "Do you remember, some days
ago, I read out an advertisement of a house that was to be let there for
the remainder of the season, and remarked that it would suit us?"

"T