He shook his head.
"I am so sorry," he answered, "but at one o'clock I have an appointment."
"An appointment?"
"Such bad luck," he continued. "It would have given me very great pleasure to have had supper with you, Violet."
"An appointment at one o'clock," she repeated slowly. "Isn't that just a little—unusual?"
"Perhaps so," he assented. "I can assure you that I am very sorry."
She leaned suddenly towards him. The aloofness had gone from her manner. The barrier seemed for a moment to have fallen down. Once more she was the Violet he remembered. She smiled into his face, and smiled with her eyes as well as her lips, just the smile he had been thinking of an hour ago in the Opera House.
"Don't go, please," she begged. "I am feeling lonely to-night and I am so tired of everybody and everything. Take me to supper at the Café de Paris. Then, if you like, we might come back here for half-an-hour. Or—"
She hesitated.
"I am horribly sorry," he declared, in a tone which was full of real regret. "Indeed, Violet, I am. But I have an appointment which I must keep, and I can't tell exactly how long it may take me."