Vivaldi's is a smart but not too smart restaurant, and had been a favorite lunching place of Ronnie's. It was all the more unreasonable in him, that he should descend beneath the glass-roofed portico with a feeling of revulsion.
Mr. Talbot had not arrived, said the beaming maître de hotel. Yes, he had booked a table. Ronnie seated himself in the lounge and a bellboy brought him an evening newspaper which he did not read. Had he done so, he would not have waited.
Half an hour passed and Ronnie was feeling hungry. Another quarter of an hour.
"I am going into the restaurant—when Mr. Talbot comes, tell him I have begun my lunch."
He was shown to the table and chose a simple meal from the card. At any rate, Jerry's unpardonable rudeness gave him an excuse for declining further invitations.
He had finished his lunch and had signalled for his bill when, looking round, he recognized two men at one of the window tables. He would not have approached them, but Sir John Maxton beckoned.
Dr. Merville would gladly have dispensed with his presence, thought Ronnie, and wondered if he had intruded into an important conference.
"Come and sit down, Ronnie. Lunching alone? That is rather unusual, isn't it?"
"My friend disappointed me," said Ronnie and he saw the doctor's lip curl.
"Did she—too bad," said Maxton.