I stared down at the poor haunted face. And then I heard Tarlyon whisper. “My God!” And again: “My God--look at that!” But I did not look. I knew he was staring over my shoulder, and I was afraid to look. I was afraid of what I would see. And then I twisted my head over my shoulder, towards the far end of the room, where there was a little door from the hall. And I saw the thing sitting squat in the corner, the black thing with white teeth flashing in a white face and a gardenia in her hair. In the palm of one hand was a little golden bowl, and from this bowl floated up a wisp of smoke, just a wisp of smoke against the blackness of her dress, and this was the faint, acrid smell of a spent bullet. And Diavalen was laughing--the dumb woman was laughing with all the glory of ivory teeth and scarlet lips.... We left the thing to its joke. We went out by the window, and did not remember our hats and sticks. XV: THE REAL REASON WHY SHELMERDENE WAS LATE FOR DINNER “Lord Tarlyon on the telephone, madam.” “I cannot speak to him, Foster. You can see very well that I cannot speak to him and why I cannot speak to him, and so why didn’t you ask him his message straight away? And take away that towel and bring another not so new. You know very well, Foster, that one cannot dry oneself properly with a new towel. And then ask Lord Tarlyon what he has to say for himself?” Foster returned. “His lordship is sorry he disturbed you, madam, and rang up merely to beg you to be punctual for dinner at half-past eight. And may he send his car for you?” “Tell his lordship,” said Shelmerdene, “that I am always punctual. Add, Foster, that punctuality is the only servile quality I have. And he may send his car for me. Thank him. And for Heaven’s sake, Foster, close those drawers! You know I can’t bear open drawers in a room. I knew something was worrying me.” In the fulness of time Shelmerdene emerged from her bath and re-entered her bedroom. Her dressing-gown was of white velvet trimmed with ermine and lined with jade green charmeuse. She sat at the toilet-table and looked at herself in the mirror. “Foster!” called Shelmerdene, softly, vaguely. “Yes, madam?” “What shall I wear to-night?” “Well, madam....” “Oh, dear! why are English maids so stupid! Why have they no taste! Why must good maids always be French? Oh, Foster, what shall I do? You are so lacking in ideas, in _finesse_, in judgment, in all sartorial courtliness! On the other hand, you are a very nice girl and I like you very much, and, anyway, you are clean, which is a good deal more than some of my friends are, what with being in a hurry and powder being so cheap. I withdraw everything I said previous to that last sentence, Foster.” “There is the black sequin, madam....” “There is certainly the black sequin, Foster. And there has been the black sequin ever since the Armistice. You may have it for yourself, Foster, for being such an ass.” “Oh, thank you, madam!”