The eyes of every one were turned toward the wall. Page [97].
"See who is there," Sabatini instructed the waiter.
Gustave, his napkin in his hand, threw open the door. A young man presented himself—a person of ordinary appearance, with a notebook sticking out of his pocket. His eyes seemed to take in at once the little party. He advanced a few steps into the room.
"You are perhaps not aware, sir," Sabatini said gently, "that this is a private apartment."
The young man bowed.
"I must apologize for my intrusion, sir and madame," he declared, looking towards Fenella. "I am a reporter on the staff of the Daily Unit, and I am exceedingly anxious to interview—you will pardon me!"
With a sudden swift movement he crossed the room, passed into the inner apartment and disappeared. Sabatini rose to his feet.
"I propose," he said, "that we complain to the proprietor of this excitable young journalist, and take our coffee in the palm court at the Carlton."
Fenella also rose and stepped in front of the looking-glass.
"It is good," she declared. "I stay with you for one half hour. Afterwards I have a bridge party. You will come with us, Mr. Chetwode?"