“Why, Diana, you look awfully pretty,” he said.
The generosity of his race compelled the statement.
“Thank you,” she said indifferently. “I always look well in this colour. You are dining out too, I see? Where are you going?”
He hesitated.
“I’m dining at the Ritz,” he said. “And you?”
“I’m going to the Embassy. Mr. Collings is over here on business; he called this afternoon. He’s my lawyer and a darling.”
Gordon murmured something agreeable. Diana, at any rate, was off his conscience for the night. And she certainly was lovely.
Receptive to his unspoken admiration, she purred a little to herself, then, to his wrath, undid the excellent impression that she had made by unlocking a drawer in his sacred table.
“I say, who gave you the key of that?” he asked indignantly.
“I found one that fitted,” she said, without embarrassment. “The drawer was empty except for a few queer German books, so I threw them out and had the lock changed. I must have some place to keep my things.”