When she comes to London it never occurs to her that she should stay anywhere but here – she thinks it would hurt my feelings – and she'll pay me visits of three or four weeks.
We sit here and she knits and reads.
And sometimes she insists on taking me to dine at Claridge's and she looks like a funny old charwoman and everyone I particularly don't want to be seen by is sitting at the next table.
When we are driving home she says she loves giving me a little treat.
With her own hands she makes me tea-cosies that I am forced to use when she is here and doilies and centrepieces for the dining-room table.'
Mrs Tower paused to take breath.
'I should have thought a woman of your tact would find a way to deal with a situation like that.'
'Ah, but don't you see, I haven't a chance.
She's so immeasurably kind.
She has a heart of gold.
She bores me to death, but I wouldn't for anything let her suspect it.'
'And when does she arrive?'
'Tomorrow.'
But the answer was hardly out of Mrs Tower's mouth when the bell rang.
There were sounds in the hall of a slight commotion and in a minute or two the butler ushered in an elderly lady.
'Mrs Fowler,' he announced.
'Jane,' cried Mrs Tower, springing to her feet.
'I wasn't expecting you today.'
'So your butler has just told me.
I certainly said today in my letter.'
Mrs Tower recovered her wits.
'Well, it doesn't matter.
I'm very glad to see you whenever you come.
Fortunately I'm doing nothing this evening.'
'You mustn't let me give you any trouble.
If I can have a boiled egg for my dinner that's all I shall want.'
A faint grimace for a moment distorted Mrs Tower's handsome features.
A boiled egg!
'Oh, I think we can do a little better than that.'
I chuckled inwardly when I recollected that the two ladies were contemporaries.
Mrs Fowler looked a good fifty-five.
She was a rather big woman; she wore a black straw hat with a wide brim and from it a black lace veil hung over her shoulders, a cloak that oddly combined severity with fussiness, a long black dress, voluminous as though she wore several petticoats under it, and stout boots.
She was evidently short-sighted, for she looked at you through large gold-rimmed spectacles.
'Won't you have a cup of tea?' asked Mrs Tower.
'If it wouldn't be too much trouble.
I'll take off my mantle.'
She began by stripping her hands of the black gloves she wore, and then took off her cloak.
Round her neck was a solid gold chain from which hung a large gold locket in which I felt certain was a photograph of her deceased husband.
Then she took off her hat and placed it neatly with her gloves and cloak on the sofa corner.
Mrs Tower pursed her lips.
Certainly those garments did not go very well with the austere but sumptuous beauty of Mrs Tower's redecorated drawing-room.
I wondered where on earth Mrs Fowler had found the extraordinary clothes she wore.
They were not old and the materials were expensive.
It was astounding to think that dressmakers still made things that had not been worn for a quarter of a century.
Mrs Fowler's grey hair was very plainly done, showing all her forehead and her ears, with a parting in the middle.
It had evidently never known the tongs of Monsieur Marcel.
Now her eyes fell on the tea-table with its teapot of Georgian silver and its cups in old Worcester.
'What have you done with the tea-cosy I gave you last time I came up, Marion?' she asked.
'Don't you use it?'
'Yes, I used it every day, Jane,' answered Mrs Tower glibly.