When a glow as
of dawn spread through the dainty room, she settled Lucy on the
sofa near the fire, and drew up an arm-chair on the other side of
the hearth-rug. Outside it was cold and foggy, but the rose-hued
curtains shut out all that was disagreeable in the weather, and
in the absence of male society, the two women talked more or less
confidentially. Lucy did not dislike Mrs. Jasher, even though
she fancied that the lively widow was planning to become the
mistress of the Pyramids.
"Well, my dear girl," said Mrs. Jasher, shading her face from the
fire with a large fan, "and how is your dear father after his
late terrible experiences?"
"He is perfectly well, and rather cross," replied Lucy, smiling.
"Cross?"
"Of course. He has lost that wretched mummy."
"And poor Sidney Bolton."
"Oh, I don't think he cares for poor Sidney's death beyond the
fact that he misses his services. But the mummy cost nine
hundred pounds, and father is much annoyed, especially as
Peruvian mummies are somewhat hard to obtain. You see, Mrs.
Jasher, father wishes to see the difference between the Peruvian
and Egyptian modes of embalming."
"Ugh! How gruesome!" Mrs. Jasher shuddered. "But has anything
been discovered likely to show who killed this poor lad?"
"No, the whole thing is a mystery.
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