she lives by her wits. I have a
notion that those two dislike each other heartily at times. . .
Here we are."
The victoria stopped in the side alley, bordered by the low walls
of private grounds. We got out before a wrought-iron gateway which
stood half open and walked up a circular drive to the door of a
large villa of a neglected appearance. The mistral howled in the
sunshine, shaking the bare bushes quite furiously. And everything
was bright and hard, the air was hard, the light was hard, the
ground under our feet was hard.
The door at which Mills rang came open almost at once. The maid
who opened it was short, dark, and slightly pockmarked. For the
rest, an obvious "femme-de-chambre," and very busy. She said
quickly, "Madame has just returned from her ride," and went up the
stairs leaving us to shut the front door ourselves.
The staircase had a crimson carpet. Mr. Blunt appeared from
somewhere in the hall. He was in riding breeches and a black coat
with ample square skirts. This get-up suited him but it also
changed him extremely by doing away with the effect of flexible
slimness he produced in his evening clothes. He looked to me not
at all himself but rather like a brother of the man who had been
talking to us the night before.
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