Lady Kingsmead had returned to town that morning, but the perfect
freedom she gained by Tommy's long stay with, and her daughter's daily
visits to, the Joyselles, had long since overcome her first scruples
about "those sort of people being after all quite the associates for
Kingsmead," and had accepted Brigit's announcement for her intention
with an absent nod.
"Very well, dear, and remind him not to forget that he is dining here on
Tuesday. He really is _most_ obliging, about playing, I must say."
"Yes, the poor creature has his qualities," returned the girl, drily.
Twice during the past twelve weeks she had gone to Kingsmead for a day
or two, and on each occasion her note, written to the violinist at her
mother's suggestion, asking him down to dine and spend the night, had
met with telegraphic acceptance.
"Good-bye, little brother."
"Good-bye, Bicky, give him my love." Tommy's small eyes beamed with
fanatical affection, and Brigit kissed him again.
Then she went downstairs, picked up a passing hansom, and sped to
Paradise.
CHAPTER SIX
Felicie Louise Marie Joyselle was sitting in her bedroom, darning her
husband's socks.
She sat in a straight-backed chair near the dressing-table, and a huge
basket of mending of different kinds stood on the floor by her side.
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