"Perhaps I'd better have dinner in my own room, so as to guard it more
carefully?" I suggested, brightening with the inspiration.
"That's not necessary," answered her ladyship. "You can perfectly well
eat downstairs, with the bag over your arm, as I have done for the last
two days. I don't intend to pay extra for you to have your meals served
in your room on any excuse whatever."
I couldn't very well offer to pay for myself. That would have raised the
suspicion that I had hidden reasons of my own for dining in private, and
I regretted that I hadn't held my tongue. Lady Turnour ostentatiously
locked the receptacle of her jewels with its little gilded key, which
she placed in a gold chain-bag studded with rubies as large as currants;
and then, reminding me that I was responsible for valuables worth she
didn't know how many thousands, she swept away, leaving a trail of white
heliotrope behind.
In any case I would wait, I thought, until I could be tolerably certain
that all the guests of the hotel had gone down to dinner. If I knew
Monsieur Charretier, he would be among the first to feed, but I couldn't
afford to run needless risks.
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