"I'll call him," he said, almost forgetting himself and adding "moddom" spasmodically. Then after a moment he spoke in his own voice. "Hallo, what is it? Is it you, Grisel?"
"Yes, oh Oliver, I have had such a time getting you. Listen, we're in awful trouble. Guy's dying in Paris and they have telegraphed for mother to come. The telegram came late last night. She's never been out of England in her life and hasn't the slightest idea how to travel and—and Paul won't be able to go; he couldn't get a pass now the Peace Conference is on—a friend of his tried last week in almost the same circumstances, and he couldn't——"
"I know, I know."
"Mother wants you to come round and tell her about things. Paul will go to the Foreign Office for her, but she knows you know Paris well, and then you can tell her about getting there—trains, and so on, on the other side of the channel. Will you come?"
He came perilously near forgetting the Perkins's at that moment.
"I'll come at once. Perhaps you'll give me some breakfast?"
"Oh, yes, anything. Do come."
Then he added, "What a pity Sir John isn't here. He would have been a great comfort to you now."
"Yes," vaguely, "wouldn't he? Oh, we're all so frightened about Guy."