He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette and looked at her thoughtfully. Not a line of his face betrayed the least sign of surprise.
“To-morrow?” he asked.
“Yes!”
“I can get up in time for the two-twenty,” he remarked thoughtfully. “I wonder whether it will be too late for the Armenonville!”
She laughed quietly.
“You are a ‘poseur,’” she declared.
“Naturally,” he admitted. “We all are, even when the audience consists of ourselves alone. I fancy I’m rather better than most, though.”
She nodded.
“You won’t mind admitting—to me—that you are surprised?”
“Astonished,” he said. “To descend to the commonplace, what on earth do you want me to go to Paris for?”