“I put it at your disposal on the eighth of July. Eight from thirty-one leaves——”
“You also begged me to stay as long as I liked.”
“I hope you will,” said Ivan. “There’s plenty of room,” and, with that, he sank into a chair.
For a moment Belinda never moved. Then she gave a light laugh and, opening an Old Chelsea box, selected a cigarette. When she had lighted this she took her seat upon a table.
“Your bluff,” she said, “is vigorous, if not in the best of taste. I think it’s time I called it. I’m not going out, Ivan.”
“Aren’t you?” said Pomeroy. “I am. Not yet, but after lunch. The air’s lovely.”
“I mean,” said Belinda coolly, “that I’m not going to vacate this villa.”
“Good,” said Ivan cheerfully. “Neither am I.”
Miss Seneschal stared.
Then she slid down from the table and stepped to his side.