And beside her was her somewhat mysterious friend of London days, the
Colonel Warington who had been so familiar a figure in the gatherings of
St. James's Place--grown much older, almost white-haired, and as
gentlemanly as ever. Who was the lady? Ashe was introduced, was aware of
a somewhat dark and Jewish cast of face, noticed some fine jewels, and
could only suppose that his mother-in-law had picked up some one to
finance her, and provide her with creature comforts in return for the
social talents that Madame d'Estrees still possessed in some abundance.
He had more than once noticed her skill in similar devices; but, indeed,
they were indispensable, for while he allowed Madame d'Estrees one
thousand a year, she was, it seemed, firmly determined to spend a
minimum of three.
He and Warington looked at each other with curiosity. The bronzed face
and honest eyes of the soldier betrayed nothing. "Are you going to marry
her at last?" thought Ashe. "Poor devil!"
Meanwhile Madame d'Estrees chattered away as though nothing could be
more natural than their meeting, or more perfect than the relations
between herself and her daughter and son-in-law.
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