ame, an elegant and spacious residence, Filton Park. The photo?
Here it is, madame. And Notts is a very eligible county--socially
speaking, remarkably eligible; I've sent several families to Notts. That
photo, madame? Hatchley Manor, in Sussex. Yes, good position--a trifle
low perhaps--I have heard complaints of--er--effluvium from the
river--I'm anxious to give you perfect satisfaction, madame. It wouldn't
pay me not to. I want you to come back, madame, another summer. I play
for the break, if I may so put it--I beg your pardon! Yes, Birdcup is
really a palatial residence--Hants, yes--a beautiful county. But between
ourselves, madame, his lordship is a little hard to deal with.
Dilapidations I refer to, yes--his lordship is exacting as to
dilapidations. On the whole, I should prefer to recommend
Winterhurst--near Maidstone--a pleasant town, Maidstone, and the clergy,
I'm informed, extremely active and sympathetic."

"It's a very ugly house," remarked Madame Zabriska, throwing away the
photograph of Winterhurst with a gesture of decided refusal.

Mr Sloyd stroked his sleek hair and smiled deprecatingly.

"With residences as with--er--ladies, beauty is only skin deep," said
he. "A thoroughly modern residence, madame--hot and cold--south aspect."
He stopped suddenly, perceiving that the queer dark little woman in the
big chair was laughing at him. "I don't intend to convey," he resumed
with dignity, "that the mansion is hot and cold, but the bath-rooms----"

"Oh, I know," she interrupted, her great black eyes still deriding him,
while her thin face was screwed up into seriousness, as she regarded Mr
Sloyd's blameless garments of springtime gray, his black-and-white tie,
his hair so very sleek, his drooping mustache, and his pink cheeks. She
had taken his measure as perfectly as the tailor himself, and was
enjoying the counterfeit presentment of a real London dandy who came to
her in the shape of a house-agent. "I don't want a big place," she
explained in English, with a foreign touch about it. "There's only
myself and my uncle, Major Duplay--he'll be in directly, I expect--and
we've no more money than we want, Mr Sloyd."

Sloyd's eyes wandered round the large and handsome sitting-room in
Berridge's Hotel, where he found his client established.

"Oh, it doesn't matter for a few days," she added, detecting his idea
and smiling again.

This explanation of her position had the effect of making Sloyd's manner
rather les