Miss Brown smiled curiously.
“Is that all?” she asked.
Peter Ruff felt that he was in the confessional.
“She certainly did seem,” he admitted, “to enjoy her champagne a great deal, and she talked about her dull life at home a little more, perhaps, than was discreet to one who was presumably a stranger. She was curious, too, about dining out. Poor little girl, though. Just fancy, John Dory has never taken her anywhere but to Lyons’ or an A B C, and the pit of a theatre!”
“Which evening is it to be?” Miss Brown asked.
“Something was said about Thursday,” Peter Ruff admitted.
“And her husband?” Miss Brown enquired.
“He happens to be in Glasgow for a few days,” Peter Ruff answered.
Miss Brown looked at her employer steadily. She addressed him by his Christian name, which was a thing she very seldom did in office hours.
“Peter,” she said, “are you going to let that woman make a fool of you?”