“She’s reading—‘How to be Happy though Married,’” he said cynically.
Kindness was wasted on such a man.
“What are you going to do with Dempsi?” asked Bobbie, leaning across and dropping his voice.
She made a little face.
“I’m in despair, Bobbie. I can’t count on his losing himself again. The only thing he shows any signs of losing is his head—and I never knew him when he had one worth losing. Well?”
It was Superbus again. She wished he wouldn’t put his hand on his heart before he bowed.
“That parson gentleman’s called again,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “He’s the Vicar of Banhurst.”
Superbus was country-bred and was schooled in the values of ecclesiastical rank. The Vicar of Banhurst was a person of eminence. To Diana he was part of the marriage trap. The steel grille that would cut her off from freedom. She was panic-stricken by his very presence in the house.
“Tell him I’m ill,” she said frantically. “Tell him—I’m—I’m very ill. Ask him to come to-morrow. And please, please don’t tell Mr. Dempsi he is here.”
“He said if you’d call him up—” Superbus offered tentatively the clerical card. She waved it away.