No Million.
I waited, and waited.
Six o'clock in the morning. I threw aside the curtains.... Bright daylight now. Still no Million!
Seven o'clock, and the cheery sounds of morning activity all around me.
But Million hadn't come in.
Out all night?
What could be the meaning of it?
From eight to nine-thirty this morning I have spent sitting at the telephone in my mistress's room; feverishly fluttering the leaves of the thick red telephone book, and calling up the numbers of people who I have imagined might know what has become of Miss Million, the heiress, and why she has not come home.
I turned up first of all her hostess at the Supper Club. "London's Love," she may be; but certainly not my love. It was she who asked Million to that horrible party.
"Give me 123 Playfair, please.... Is that Miss Vi Vassity?... Can I speak to Miss Vi Vassity, please? It is something urgent——"