"I am putting myself in the confessional," she declared. "I was leaving the place with a disagreeable taste in my mouth. At the last moment, even as I was stepping into a taxicab, I turned back. I went instead to the desk and boldly asked for the number of your suite. I want that taste removed, please."
"Tell me how I can do it in the quickest possible manner," he begged.
She turned and looked at him, enquiringly at first, then with a delightful little smile which relieved all the tenseness of her expression.
"By assuring me that you are not going to emulate, in however innocent a fashion, my husband's exploits in the musical comedy world."
He leaned over her chair, took her hands in his and looked into her eyes.
"Honestly," he asked, "do you need any assurance?"
"That is the funny part of it," she laughed. "Since I am here, since I have seen you, I don't feel that I do, but downstairs I had quite a horrid little pain."
"You will never have occasion to feel it again," he told her. "I met Miss
Flossie Lane last night for the first time at the supper party to which
Roger Kendrick took me. I was placed next to her, and somehow or other
she seems to have convinced herself that I invited her to lunch to-day."
"And you?"
"To be perfectly honest I can't remember having done anything of the sort. However, what was I to do?"