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The flagstones nursed the day's heat on into twilight, so that it was nearly always possible to have tea outdoors. But this evening the heat was bakehouse heat, and Iris had taken refuge in the loggia, where blinds of jasmine hung between her and the sun. They shut her and her daughter into a flecked, scented shadow that moved upon their faces and the floor and the china and silver of the tea table.

"You wouldn't know there was a breeze," said Lesley, "if you didn't see the shadows move."

Iris felt one of those gusts of irritation which seldom failed to shake her if she was any length of time in Lesley's company.

"Have you heard a word of what I'm saying?"

"Oh, yes."

"Then what did I say?"

"You were talking about Mrs. Gailey."

"We've talked about little else since I arrived. What I'm now trying to find out is what she was doing before she applied to you. Whose references have you got?"

"Why, nobody's. Sylvia Dunning knows her very well indeed and says she's charming."

"But what are her qualifications as a secretary?"