She dismissed the girl with a stately inclination of her head.
"What have you been doing? We have not seen you for a very long time. You have other engagements? You must be careful. I fear for you sometimes," she patted his arm. "You will come tonight? You must dress, of course. I do not receive men who are not in evening dress. Grand habit, you understand? The war made men very careless. The smoking jacket—tuxedo—what do you call it? and the black tie. That is no longer good style. If you are to meet ladies, you must wear a white bow and the white waistcoat with the long coat. I insist upon this. I am right, is it not so? All the men wear grand habit nowadays. What do you wish, Ronnie?"
"Nothing in particular; I thought I would come along. I am feeling rather sick of life today."
She nodded. "So you come to see my little friends. That is nice and they will be glad. All of them except Lola; she is going out to dinner tonight with a very great friend. You know your way: they are playing baccarat in the little salon. It amuses them and they only play for pennies."
Ronnie strolled off to seek entertainment in the little salon.
He was rung up at his flat that evening four times. At midnight Steppe called him up again.
"M'sieur, he has not returned. No, M'sieur, not even to dress."
Madame Ritti, for all the rigidity of her dress regulations, made exceptions seemingly.
Ronald was sleeping soundly when Steppe strolled into his room and let up the blind with a crash.
"Hullo?" Ronnie struggled up. "What time is it?"