"Was it a white one? At least you'll remember that?" I urged. I saw before my mind's eye Million's restaurant coat of soft, creamy cloth, with the mother-o'-pearl satin lining. How little I'd dreamt, as I put it about my mistress's shoulders last night, that I should be trying to trace its whereabouts—and hers—at eleven o'clock this morning!
"Was it a light coat or a dark one that the lady had on who drove away with Lord Fourcastles? You can at least tell me that!"
The sallow-faced attendant shook his head.
Afraid he "hadn't thought to notice whether the young lady's coat was white or black or what colour."
Blind Bat!
And as I turned away in despair I caught an amused grin on his sallow face under the peaked cap, and I heard him whistle through his teeth a stave of the music-hall song, "Who Were You With Last Night?"
Horrid, horrid man!
It seems to me this morning that all men are perfectly horrid.
What about this young Lord Fourcastles?
That's the thought that's worrying me now as I walk up and down Miss Million's deserted sitting-room, unable to settle to anything; waiting, waiting....