teacups and a pewter pot, and a very black little fire, and a paraffin lamp without a shade. There was at any rate no sign of a flower; it was not for herself Mrs. Jordan gathered sweets. The girl waited till they had had a cup of tea—waited for the announcement that she fairly believed her friend had, this time, possessed herself of her formally at last to make; but nothing came, after the interval, save a little poke at the fire, which was like the clearing of a throat for a speech.
XXV
'I think you must have heard me speak of Mr. Drake?' Mrs. Jordan had never looked so queer, nor her smile so suggestive of a large benevolent bite.
'Mr. Drake? Oh yes; isn't he a friend of Lord Rye?'
'A great and trusted friend. Almost—I may say—a loved friend.'
Mrs. Jordan's 'almost' had such an oddity that her companion was moved, rather flippantly
