“Aunt Honor,” said Miss Wardour, sweeping unceremoniously into her aunt’s dressing room, “you really must come to my relief.”
Mrs. Aliston seated in a big dressing chair, with a tempting breakfast tray drawn close beside her, looked up serene and comfortable, and said, after setting down her porcelain chocolate cup with great care.
“Yes!” with the rising inflection.
“I’m exhausted, bothered, bored,” continued the young lady, flinging herself down upon the nearest ottoman. “I wish my old diamonds had never had an existence. I wish Grandmama Wardour had had better sense.”
“Have a cup of chocolate,” suggested Mrs. Aliston.
“I won’t,” snapped Constance, belligerently. “I have breakfasted if you please; auntie,” lowering her voice to a tone of mock mystery, “we have got another detective i
