“Meet me in the tea room downstairs. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Not waiting for him to answer she closed the wire. She was there waiting when he arrived.
“I’m sorry if anything has happened,” she said, most sympathetically. “Can you tell me about it?”
“It’s off,” he said, feeling secretly and utterly ludicrous. “That’s all.”
“Oh, that can’t be,” she said. “Suppose I talk to her. I shan’t be modest about you. I’ll not promise to be even truthful.”
“No use,” he said. “I’ve said everything there is to say for myself. She knows me well enough—too well, perhaps. That may be it.”
“Tell me about her. What is she like?”
“Cold. You wouldn’t think so, but she is. The fact that a man loves her means nothing—not a thing.”
“Is she so used to it?”
“I don’t know. No. That isn’t it....”