He frowned and put on his mask again.
"Are chrysanthemums in season?" he asked casually. "Anyhow, I suppose I could always get a yellow one?"
"You could, Simpson. And you could put it in your button-hole, so that you can be recognized, and go to Finsbury Circus to meet somebody at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. Samuel, I'm ashamed of you. Er—where do you lunch?"
"At the Carlton. Old chap, I got quite carried away. Things seemed to be arranged before I knew where I was."
"And what's she going to wear so that you can recognize HER?"
"Yes," said Simpson, getting up, "that's the worst of it. I told her it was quite out of date, and that only the suburbs wore fashions a year old, but she insisted on it. I had no idea she was that sort of girl. Well, I'm in for it now." He sighed heavily and went off for another ginger-ale.
I think that I must be at Finsbury Circus to-morrow, for certainly no Columbine in a harem skirt will be there. Simpson in his loneliness will be delighted to see me, and then we can throw away his button-hole and have a nice little lunch together.