“Quite well,” she said. “And so is my Pepino, thank heaven. Bearing up wonderfully. He’s just gone.”
Georgie was on the point of asking where, but guessed in time.
“I see,” he said. “And you didn’t go. I’m very glad. So wise.”
“I felt I couldn’t,” she said, “and he urged me not. It’s to-morrow. He sleeps in London to-night——”
(Again Georgie longed to say “where?” for it was impossible not to wonder if he would sleep in the house of unknown locality near Harrod’s.)
“And he’ll be back to-morrow evening,” said Lucia without pause. “I wonder if you would take pity on me and come and dine. Just something to eat, you know; the house is so upset. Don’t dress.”
“Delighted,” said Georgie, though he had ordered oysters. But they could be scolloped for to-morrow.... “Love to come.”
“Eight o’clock then? Nobody else of course. If you care to bring our Mozart duet.”
“Rather,” said Georgie. “Good for you to be occupied, Lucia. We’ll have a good go at it.”
“Dear Georgie,” said Lucia faintly. He heard her sigh, again, not quite so successfully, and replace the ear-piece with a click.