Peter Ruff leaned forward in his chair. He, too, had expressive eyes at times.
“Madam,” he said—and stopped. But Maud blushed, all the same.
She looked down into her lap.
“We are forgetting Mr. Fitzgerald,” she murmured.
Peter Ruff glanced up at the clock.
“It is a long story,” he said. “Are you in a hurry, Mrs. Dory?
“Not at all,” she assured him, “unless you want to close you office, or anything. It must be nearly one o’clock.”
“I wonder,” he asked, “if you would do me the honour of lunching with me? We might go to the Prince’s or the Carlton—whichever you prefer. I will promise to talk about Mr. Fitzgerald all the time.”
“Oh, I couldn’t!” Maud declared, with a little gasp. “At least—well, I’m sure I don’t know!”
“You have no engagement for luncheon?” Peter Ruff asked quietly.