“And serve her right! Fascinating, fiendish demon!” Then she laughed, her mood changing.
“Did you see Charlie?” she said.
“We breakfasted together.”
“Cheerful person, isn’t he?”
“No,” I said. “He looked cross and ill.”
“Ill!” she said, with a shade of anxiety. “Oh, you only mean dyspeptic.”
“Perhaps.”
“Well, he always does when he comes from Paris. If you could go into his room, and see the row of photographs on his mantelpiece, you might guess why.”
“Pictures of ‘Sole Dieppoise’ and ‘Poulet Victoria aux truffes,’ no doubt,” I hazarded.
She doubled up with laughter. “Yes, just that!” she said. “Well, he adores me in his way, and will bring me a new Cartier ring to make up for it—you will see at luncheon.”