“Charles, don’t shout.”
“Where are my flowers? I sent some—roses and lilies and maidenhair. Where are they?”
“I haven’t seen them.”
“Ah, I suppose you didn’t like them, but the girl in the shop told me they would be all right. How should I know?”
“I haven’t seen them,” she repeated. Over his shoulder she saw the figure of Francis Sales coming towards her.
“I ordered them yesterday,” Charles continued loudly. “I’ll kill that girl. I’ll go at once.”
“The shop will be shut,” Henrietta reminded him. “Oh, do be quiet, Charles.” She turned with a smile for Francis.
“She hasn’t a dance left,” Charles said.
“Mr. Sales took the precaution of booking them in advance,” Henrietta said lightly, and with a miserable gesture Charles went off, muttering, “I hadn’t thought of that. Why didn’t some one tell me?”