“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?”

“That it might suit us, had we wanted one,” put in Val.

“I wrote off at once to mamma, and begged her to see after it and engage it for us,” she continued, disregarding her husband’s amendment.  “She now tells me she has done so, and ordered servants up from Hartledon.  By the time this letter reaches me she says it will be in readiness.”

Lord Hartledon in his astonishment could scarcely find words to reply.  “You wrote—­yourself—­and ordered the house to be taken?”

“Yes.  You are difficult to convince, Val.”

“Then I think it was your duty to have first consulted me, Lady Maude,” he said, feeling deeply mortified.