She opened the front door of the house in Mortimer Street with her latch-key, and went upstairs, almost unconscious that the damp heat was dreadful.  She met Jane Cupp coming down, and smiled at her happily.

“Jane,” she said, “if you are not busy, I should like to have a little talk with you.  Will you come into my room?”

“Yes, miss,” Jane replied, with her usual respectful lady’s maid’s air.  It was in truth Jane’s highest ambition to become some day maid to a great lady, and she privately felt that her association with Miss Fox-Seton was the best possible training.  She used to ask to be allowed to dress her when she went out, and had felt it a privilege to be permitted to “do” her hair.

She helped Emily to remove her walking dress, and neatly folded away her gloves and veil.  She knelt down before her as soon as she saw her seat herself to take off her muddy boots.

“Oh, thank you, Jane,” Emily exclaimed, with her kind italicised manner.  “That is good of you.  I am tired, really.  But such a nice thing has happened.  I have had such a delightful invi-tation for the first week in August.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, miss,” said Jane.  “It’s so hot in August.”

“Lady Maria Bayne has been kind enough to invite me to Mallowe Court,” explained Emily, smiling down at the cheap slipper Jane was putting on her large, well-shaped foot.  She was built on a large scale, and her foot was of no Cinderella-like proportions.

“O miss!” exclaimed Jane.  “How beautiful!  I was reading about Mallowe in ‘Modern Society’ the other day, and it said it was lovely and her ladyship’s parties were wonderful for smartness.  The paragraph was about the Marquis of Walderhurst.”

“He is Lady Maria’s cousin,” said Emily, “and he will be there when I am.”

She was a friendly creature, and lived a life so really isolated from any ordinary companionship that her simple little talks with Jane and Mrs. Cupp were a pleasure to her.  The Cupps were neither gossiping nor intrusive, and she felt as if they were her friends.  Once when she had been ill for a week she remembered suddenly realising that she had no intimates at all, and that if she died Mrs. Cupp’s and Jane’s would certainly be the last faces—­and the only ones—­she would see.  She had cried a little the night she thought of it, but then, as she told herself, she was feverish and weak, and it made her morbid.

“It was because of this invitation that I wanted to talk to you, Jane,” she went on.  “You see, we shall have to begin to contrive about dresses.”

“Yes, indeed, miss.  It’s fortunate that the summer sales are on, isn’t it?  I saw some beautiful colored linens yesterday.  They were so cheap, and they do make up so smart for the country.  Then you’ve got your new Tussore with the blue collar and waistband.  It does become you.”

“I must say I think that a Tussore always looks fresh,” said Emily, “and I saw a really nice little tan toque—­one of those soft straw ones—­for three and eleven.  And just a twist of blue chiffon and a wing would make it look quite good.”