“I think they’ve had enough of that. According to Felixstowe, they’re plotting something a little lower down. Keep an eye on me, Dick, if beautiful woman inveigles, or a ragged messenger from a starving father tries to lure me into the slums.”
Dauncey declined to take the matter lightly.
“You haven’t a thing to do for four days,” he remarked. “Why don’t you go down to Marlingden and see how the new ‘Mrs. Fitzpatricks’ are blooming?”
“It’s an idea, Dick,” Jacob declared. “I’m sick of town, anyway. Telephone Mrs. Harris and say I’m coming, and order the car around in half an hour. You can stay here till closing time and come across and see me after supper.”
The telephone tinkled at Jacob’s elbow. He picked up the receiver and listened for a moment. His own share of the conversation was insignificant.
“Of course you can,” he said. “Certainly, I shall be here.... In five minutes?... Yes!”
He replaced the receiver.
“Lady Mary Felixstowe is calling here, Dauncey,” he announced. “She can be shown in at once.”
Lady Mary, very smart in white muslin and a black hat, followed hard upon her telephone message. She was full of curiosity and without the least embarrassment.
“Don’t tell me that all your money is made in a little office like this!” she exclaimed, as she sank into the easy-chair.