They were really very kind people, these Wachners!

Looking round the funny little dining-room, Sylvia could not help remembering how uncomfortable she had felt when sitting there alone the day before.  It was hard now to believe that she should have had that queer, eerie feeling of discomfort and disquietude in such a commonplace, cheerful room.  She told herself that there probably had been some little creature hidden there—­some shy, wild thing, which maybe had crept in out of the wood.

“And now I will go and make the tea,” said Madame Wachner pleasantly, and Sylvia gaily insisted on accompanying her hostess into the kitchen.

“We shall ’ave a nicer tea than that first time we made tea ’ere together,” said Madame Wachner jovially.

The young Englishwoman shook her head, smiling.

“I had a very good time that afternoon!” she cried.  “And I shall always feel grateful for your kindness to me and to poor Anna, Madame Wachner.  I do so often wonder what Anna is doing with herself, and where she is staying in Paris.”  She looked wistfully at her companion.

Madame Wachner was in the act of pouring the boiling water into her china teapot.

“Ah, well,” she said, bending over it, “we shall never know that.  Your friend was a strange person, what I call a solitaire.  She did not like gambling when there were people whom she knew in the Baccarat Room with her.  As to what she is doing now—­” she shrugged her shoulders, expressively.

“You know she telegraphed for her luggage yesterday?” said Sylvia slowly.

“In that case—­if it has had time to arrive—­Madame Wolsky is probably on her way to Aix, perhaps even to Monte Carlo.  She did not seem to mind whether it was hot or cold if she could get what she wanted—­that is, Play—­”

Madame Wachner had now made the tea.  She turned and stood with arms akimbo, staring out of the little window which gave on the sun-baked lawn bounded by the chestnut wood.

“No,” she said slowly, “I do not for a moment suppose that you will ever see Madame Wolsky again.  It would surprise me very much if you were to do so.  For one thing, she must be—­well, rather ashamed of the way she treated you—­you who were so kind to her, Sylvie!”

“She was far kinder to me than I was to her,” said Sylvia in a low voice.

“Ah, my dear”—­Madame Wachner put her fat hand on Sylvia’s shoulder—­“you have such a kind, warm, generous heart—­that is the truth!  No, no, Anna Wolsky was not able to appreciate such a friend as you are!  But now the tea is made, made strong to the English taste, we must not leave L’Ami Fritz and Mr. Chester alone together.  Gentleman are dull without ladies.”

Carrying the teapot she led the way into the dining-room, and they sat down round the table.

The little tea-party went off fairly well, but Chester could not forget his strange conversation with Sylvia in the motor.  Somehow, he and she had never come so really near to one another as they had done that afternoon.  And yet, on the other hand, he felt that she was quite unlike what he had thought her to be.  It was as if he had come across a new Sylvia.