"Of course," Pamela declared, as they took their places, and she nodded a greeting to some friends around the table, "fate is throwing us together in the most unaccountable manner."
"I accept its vagaries with resignation," Lutchester replied. "Besides, it is quite time we met again. You promised to show me New York, and I haven't seen you for days."
"I don't even remember the promise," Pamela laughed, "but in any case I have changed my mind. I am not sure that you are the nice, simple-minded person you profess to be. I begin to have doubts about you."
"Interest grows with mystery," Lutchester remarked complacently. "Let us hope that I am promoted in your mind."
"Well, I am not at all sure. Of course, I am not an Englishman, so it is of no particular interest to me, but if you really came over here on important affairs, I am not sure that I approve of your playing golf the day after your arrival."
"That, perhaps, was thoughtless," he admitted, "but one gets so short of exercise on board ship."
"Of course," Pamela observed tentatively, "I'd forgive you even now if you'd only be a little more frank with me."
"I am prepared to be candour itself," he assured her.
"Tell me," she begged, "the whole extent of your mission in America?"
He glanced around.