"I am in no hurry to leave London," he replied.
"When you go," she told him, "I have made up my mind to take a little holiday. I thought even of going to the South of France."
The lines of her companion's forehead were slightly elevated.
"My dear Marcia," he protested gently, "is that like you? The class of people who frequent the Riviera at this time of the year—"
She laughed at him delightfully.
"Oh, you foolish person!" she interrupted. "If I go, I shall go to a tiny little boarding house, or take a villa in one of the quiet places—San Raphael, perhaps, or one of those little forgotten spots between Hyères and Cannes. Phillis Grant would go with me. She isn't going to act again until the autumn season."
Her visitor's expression was a little blank.
"In the case of your departure from London," he announced, in a very even but very forlorn tone, "I will instruct Mr. Wadham to make a suitable addition to your allowance. At the same time, Marcia," he added, "I shall miss you."
His words were evidently a surprise to her. She threw away her cigarette and came and sat on the sofa by his side.
"Do you know, I believe you would," she murmured, resting her hand upon his. "How queer!"