"You're not going out?" he asked. She was still in day clothes, wearing a hat.
"Yes, I am, Harry."
"Where? Why?"
She laid her hand on his arm. "Don't grudge Gilbert one evening,—his last. I've been perfectly rotten to him all along."
"Palgrave? Are you going out with Palgrave?"
"Yes, to dine somewhere. I want to, Harry, oh, for lots of reasons. You know one. Don't stop me." Her voice broke a little.
"But not with Palgrave."
"Why?"
"I saw him dodge out of the telephone room a minute ago. He looked—queer. Don't go, Joan."
"I must," she said and went to the door. He was after her and caught hold of her arm.