“My dear Passmore,” he said, “come to the table. We shall want those Continental time-tables and the London A.B.C. You will have to take a journey to-night.”
CHAPTER XXXVIII
The two women were alone in the morning-room of Lady Carey’s house in Pont Street. Lucille was walking restlessly up and down twisting her handkerchief between her fingers. Lady Carey was watching her, more composed, to all outward appearance, but with closely compressed lips, and boding gleam in her eyes.
“I think,” Lady Carey said, “that you had better see him.”
Lucille turned almost fiercely upon her.
“And why?”
“Well, for one thing he will not understand your refusal. He may be suspicious.”
“What does it matter? I have finished with him. I have done all that I pledged myself to. What more can be expected of me? I do not wish to see him again.”
Lady Carey laughed.