ford had never recognised her;
no doubt if she had done so she would have thought twice about engaging
her services.

Ah, here it was, the Villa Firenze--a spacious, even imposing mansion
of pinkish brick, the front covered in wistaria. Acacias shut off the
well-kept garden from the road and bordered the drive, a circular one,
the approach terminating in wide, shallow stone steps, flanked by
carved stone baskets of fruit. While she was paying the taxi, the door
opened and a manservant, English, with sparse grey hair and a pleasant
wooden face, came out and took her bag and hat-box.

"I daresay you'll be wanting to go straight to your room, miss?" he
suggested.

"Yes, thank you."

She found herself in a large, irregular entrance hall with a sweep of
stairs facing her. On the left was a high Gothic chimney-piece of grey
stone, the fireplace banked with azaleas, flame-coloured and rose.
There were a few tall Stuart chairs and a carved oak coffer. The long
windows were curtained with old needlework. She followed the butler up
the carpeted stairs and from a broad upper hall along a passage towards
the back of the house, meeting no one on the way but a housemaid.

The room into which she was shown had the charm of harmonious
simplicity. The plain furniture was painted black, outlined in mauve;
the curtains and covers were of Toile de Jouy in one of those
delightful reproductions of an eighteenth-century pattern, showing a
dozen scenes of pastoral life, mauve on a white ground. The carpet was
black, and on the mantelpiece was a black Wedgwood bowl filled with
anemones, placed between crystal candlesticks.

"Your box will be up directly, miss," the butler said as he left her.

She went to the window and looked out over wet green lawns with hedges
and oleanders. Rain dripped from the shrubs, but a shaft of watery
sunlight had broken through the clouds. She breathed in the fragrance
of the garden for several moments, then, her trunk arriving, set
herself to work to unpack the belongings so recently stowed away. This
done, she quickly changed into one of her pale buff uniforms with its
accompanying snowy apron, stiff cuffs and coif--an uncompromising
costume at the best of times, yet she had managed to have hers well-cut
and of a becoming colour, which was the most that one could do.

As she was putting the final touches to her attire there was a tap on
the door and the maid she had seen in the passage entered.