“And afterwards?” she asked.
“I shall have my lunch sent in,” he answered. “Don’t hurry back, though. I shall not expect you till a quarter past three.”
It was a few minutes past that time when Miss Brown returned. Peter Ruff was sitting at his desk, looking as though he had never moved. He was absorbed by a book of patterns sent in by his new tailor, and he only glanced up when she entered the room.
“Violet,” he said, earnestly, “come in and sit down. I want to consult you. There is a new material here—a sort of mouse-coloured cheviot. I wonder whether it would suit me?”
Violet was looking very handsome and a little flushed. She raised her veil and came over to his side.
“Put that stupid book away, Peter,” she said. “I want to tell you about the Milan.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“Ah!” he said. “I had forgotten! Was Mr. Vincent Cawdor there?”
“Yes!” she answered, still a little breathless. “There was some one else there, too, in whom you are still more interested.”
He nodded.