Lucia unconscious of this deadly scrutiny turned to her immediate affairs. Her engagement-book pleasantly informed her that she had many things to do on the day when the need for complete rest overtook her, and now she heralded through the telephone the glad tidings that she could lunch here and drop in there, and dine with Aggie. All went well with these restorations, and the day would be full, and to-morrow also, down to the hour of her departure for Adele’s. Having despatched this agreeable business, she was on the point of ringing up Stephen, to fit him in for the spare three-quarters of an hour that was left, when she was rung up and it was Stephen’s voice that greeted her.
“Stephano mio,” she said. “How did you guess I was back?”
“Because I rang up Riseholme first,” said he, “and heard you had gone to town. Were you there last night?”
There was no cause to ask where “there” was. There had only been one place in London last night.
“Yes; delicious dance,” said Lucia. “I was just going to ring you up and see if you could come round for a chat at 4.45, I am free till 5.30. Such fun it was. A flashlight photograph.”
“No!” said Stephen in the Riseholme manner. “I long to hear about it. And were there really seven of them?”
“Quite,” said Lucia magnificently.
“Wonderful! But 4.45 is no use for me. Can’t you give me another time?”
“My dear, impossible,” said Lucia. “You know what London is in these last days. Such a scrimmage.”
“Well, we shall meet to-morrow then,” said he.