At the end of their first week Chalfont came down and remained with them for the rest of the tour. Both he and Mrs. Lambert treated Alexandra on terms of equality so that she never felt an intruder on their intimacy. Before her they made no secret of their attachment, but she never regarded it as anything more close than what might exist between old and tried friends. Sometimes she detected in Mrs. Lambert quite a sisterly attitude toward Lord Chalfont. That was probably accounted for by the differences in their ages, she being a few years the elder. Chalfont often asked after Maggy. He had quite an open admiration for her, which Mrs. Lambert shared. But, unlike him, she seldom asked for news of her. At the time, Alexandra did not notice this apparent lack of interest. She was not able to impart anything about Maggy for the simple reason that she had not heard from her. Only twice during the early days of the tour had there been a letter from her. After that, although Alexandra repeatedly wrote, she got no reply. She could not help wondering at this silence. It was not like Maggy. Later, when she spoke of it to Mrs. Lambert, the latter did not seem surprised. "You’re sure to hear from her soon. She may be away," she said. And a letter did arrive from Maggy shortly afterwards. It was written in pencil and strangely shaky, quite unlike her habitual hand, which although childish, was remarkably firm. She said very little, confirmed Mrs. Lambert’s prophecy by admitting that she had been away for a change, owing to which she had not received Alexandra’s letters until her return. She ended with a postscript which had evidently been added in a burst of feeling. "I love Fred more than ever, Lexie. I couldn’t exist without him. He has been such a dear since I got back." Alexandra passed it across the breakfast table to Mrs. Lambert, with the remark: "It’s from Maggy. She doesn’t say what has been the matter with her, though." Chalfont looked up. "Has your friend been ill?" he asked with concern. "I’m sorry to hear that. We must send her some flowers, Ada." "Yes, we will," Mrs. Lambert concurred. After breakfast he went out to buy some. When he came back Mrs. Lambert was alone in the room. "What beauties!" she said, lifting the lid of the box he had brought in with him. "Catherine Mermets." She hung over the roses, the bitter-sweet of the memories they evoked coming up to her with their delicate fragrance. Chalfont always bought her Catherine Mermets when they were in bloom, great masses of them; but it was Hugh Lambert who had first given her a bunch of three, purchased at a street corner at sixpence each in the days when sixpences were scarce with him. "I got them because they are your favorites," he said. "I thought she would be sure to like what you like. Anyway, what’s good enough for you is good enough for anybody." She put her arm over his shoulder and kissed him.