The girl gave her old enemy a grateful glance and, instead of going first to her mother, pushed past the group at the foot of the stairs and bolted down the passage to Sir William's room.
"Lowndes Square?" Singleton repeated idly as he leaned against the door. "Is that Sir William's London house?"
Miss Greta did not trouble to reply to the obvious. "Schwartz chez Kalisch—you've got that?"
Nan nodded.
"It will be more convenient," Mr. Singleton interrupted again, "for you to put up at a hotel."
Miss Greta appeared to consider this suggestion also to be unworthy of notice. She stood wrinkling her brows over the form of the message.
"Let me," said Napier. He held out his hand for Nan's fragment of paper. "Then you can get on with the telephoning."
Couldn't Nan trust herself to look into his face? Without raising her eyes, Nan relinquished paper and pencil, and ran down to the telephone-room.
"Returning home via Folkestone to-morrow." Miss Greta, still leaning against the newel, dictated as imperturbably as though she had a week in front of her for packing and preparation.
He hardly looked at the words he scribbled. The instant Nan disappeared and Singleton had sauntered down the hall in her wake, he said in an undertone, "You wouldn't like her to see your room. You'd better go up and lock the door. Tell her to do her own packing first."