Aubrey.
[Reading.] "I shall be in Paris by to-morrow evening. Shall wait there, at Meurice's, for a week, ready to receive any communication you or your husband may address to me. Please invent some explanation to Ellean. Mrs. Tanqueray, for God's sake, do what you can for me."
[Paula and Aubrey speak in low voices, both still looking at the letter.
Paula.
Has he left The Warren, I wonder, already?
Aubrey.
That doesn't matter.
Paula.
No, but I can picture him going quietly off. Very likely he's walking on to Bridgeford or Cottering to-night, to get the first train in the morning. A pleasant stroll for him.