"Why not?"
She struggled up, her face averted.
"It is the best way," she said, "will you get me a cab?"
When he came up again, she was tidying her hair at the mirror. "It was very foolish," she remarked without emotion.
"There is nobody below, and, thank God, there was an Albert Hall ball last night," said Ronnie, "and it is only eight—shall I come down with you?"
She shook her head. "No—just show me how to work the elevator. An Albert Hall ball? Where could I have been after that finished? You lie better than I, Ronnie."
"Having breakfast—lots of people make a special function of breakfast after those shows."
"All right—show me how the elevator works."
To her maid a quarter of an hour later: "I'm going to bed, Dean, and if Mr. Morelle rings up, will you tell him that I am very sorry I cannot see him this morning. You can bring me a cup of chocolate—yes, I've had breakfast, but bring me some chocolate."
She was standing by the window in a silk wrap when the maid brought the tray. Beryl did not look round.