At the Milan Court, the hall-porter received his inquiry for
Elizabeth with an air of faint but well-bred surprise.
Tavernake, in those days, was a person exceedingly difficult to
place. His clothes so obviously denoted the station in life
which he really occupied, while the slight imperiousness of his
manner, his absolute freedom from any sort of nervousness or
awkwardness, seemed to bespeak a consideration which those who
had to deal with him as a stranger found sometimes a little
puzzling.
"Mrs. Wenham Gardner is in her rooms, I believe, sir," the man
said. "If you will wait for a moment, I will inquire."
He disappeared into his office, thrusting his head out, a moment
or two later, with the telephone receiver still in his hand.
"Mrs. Gardner would like the name again, sir, please," he
remarked.
Tavernake repeated it firmly.
"You might say," he added, "that I shall not detain her for more
than a few minutes."
The man disappeared once more. When he returned, he indicated
the lift to Tavernake.
"If you will go up to the fifth floor, sir," he said, " Mrs.
Gardner will see you."
Tavernake found his courage almost leaving him as he knocked at
the door of her rooms. Her French maid ushered him into the
little sitting-room, where, to his dismay, he found three men,
one sitting on the table, the other two in easy-chairs.
Elizabeth, in a dress of pale blue satin, was standing before the
mirror. She turned round as Tavernake entered.
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