"Of course. I should love to." Miss Twitterton giggled. "I do so want to hear about all the murder cases."
"Then here's the man to tell you about them, Miss Twitterton," said Hardy, with mischief in his eye. "Allow me to introduce Lord Peter Wimsey."
Miss Twitterton offered her hand in an ecstasy of excitement which almost robbed her of speech.
"How do you do?" said Wimsey. "As this blighter is in such a hurry to get back to his gossip-shop, what do you say to having a spot of lunch with me?"
"Well, really——" began Miss Twitterton.
"He's all right," said Hardy; "he won't lure you into any gilded dens of infamy. If you look at him, you will see he has a kind, innocent face."
"I'm sure I never thought of such a thing," said Miss Twitterton. "But you know—really—I've only got my old things on. It's no good wearing anything decent in this dusty old place."
"Oh, nonsense!" said Wimsey. "You couldn't possibly look nicer. It isn't the frock that matters—it's the person who wears it. That's all right, then. See you later, Sally! Taxi! Where shall we go? What time do you have to be back, by the way?"
"Two o'clock," said Miss Twitterton regretfully.
"Then we'll make the Savoy do," said Wimsey; "it's reasonably handy."