“Very well, Bertrand,” she said, “I will go.”
“You will just catch a fast train to London,” he said, more cheerfully. “You will change at Mechester, and you will find a dining-car there. Have you plenty of money?”
“Plenty, thank you,” she answered.
He walked with her out into the hall.
“Madame will be so sorry,” he said, “to have missed you. The telegram must have been a complete misunderstanding. Till next week, then.”
He handed her into the car, and raising her fingers to his lips, kissed them gallantly.
“To the station, William,” he ordered the chauffeur, “and then get back for me as quickly as you can.”
The car swung off. Saton stood watching it with darkening face. There was some pity in his heart for this somewhat passée young person, who had been kind to him during those first few weeks of his re-entering into life. He recognised the fact that his swift progress was unfortunate for her. He even sat for a moment or two smoking a cigarette in his very luxurious dressing-room, fingering the gold-topped bottles of his dressing-case, and wondering what would be the most effectual and least painful means of coming to an understanding with her!