As she put the question Miss Van Tuyn looked closely at her friend, and, in spite of the dimness, she noticed a difference in her appearance. The white hair still crowned the beautifully shaped head, but it looked thicker, more alive than formerly. The change which struck her most, however, was in the appearance of the face. It seemed, she thought, markedly younger and fresher, smoother than she remembered it, firmer in texture. Surely some, many even, of the wrinkles had disappeared. And the lips, once so pale and weary, were rosy now--if the light was not deceiving her. The invariable black dress, too, had vanished. Adela wore a lovely gown of a deep violet colour and had a violet band in her hair. She sat very upright. Her tall figure seemed almost braced up. And surely she looked less absolutely natural than usual. There was something--a slight hardness, perhaps, a touch of conscious imperviousness in look and manner, a watchful something--which made Miss Van Tuyn for a moment think of a photograph she had seen on a member of the “old guard’s” table. The sheaves! The sheaves! But the girl longed for more light. She knew she was not deceived entirely by the dimness, but she longed for crude revelation. Already her mind was busily at work on the future. She felt, although she had only been in the room for two or three minutes, that the Lady Sellingworth who had just come back to London must presently be her enemy. And she wished to get in the first blow, since blows there would have to be. “Where have I been?” said Lady Sellingworth. “In the place of the swans--in Geneva.” “Geneva! We thought you had gone to the Riviera, probably to Cap Martin.” “I did go to the Riviera first.” “It must have been a desert.” “Not quite. Cannes would have been quite pleasant. But I had to go on to Geneva to see a friend.” Miss Van Tuyn thought of Lausanne, of doctors. Many women whom she knew in Paris swore by the doctors of Berne and Lausanne. There were wonderful treatments now for old women. Extraordinary things were done with monkey glands and other mysterious preparations and inoculations. Was not Adela’s manner changed? Did she not diffuse an atmosphere of intention, of vigour, which had not been hers before? Did she not seem younger? “Did you stay long at the Beau Rivage?” she asked. “Yes, I did.” “We have missed you.” “I like to think that.” “London loses its most characteristic note for me when you are not in it.” Miss Van Tuyn’s curiosity was becoming intense, but how could she gratify it? She sought about for an opening, but found none. For it was seldom her way to be quite blunt with women, though with men she was often blunt. “Everyone has been wondering where you were,” she said. “Mr. Braybrooke was quite in a turmoil. Does he know you are back?” “I haven’t told him. But he gets to know everything in less than five minutes. And what have you been doing?”