“I'll have dinner with Mr Dawes and———”
“That would be jolly. They will be pleased. A sort of—what do you call it—a sort of reunion, eh?”
“Are you making sport of me?” he demanded angrily.
“But no! It will be making sport for the old gentleman, though, aïe? And now au revoir! You will surely convince Lydia that I love her? I am troubled. You will———”
“What play are you going to see?” he cut in. She mentioned a Belasco production. “Well, I hope you enjoy it, Yvonne. By the way, how is the governor to-day? In a good humour?”
There was no response. He waited for a moment and then called out: “Are you there?”.
“Good-bye,” came back over the wire.
He started, as if she had given him a slap in the face. Her voice was cold and forbidding.
When Lydia rejoined him in the sitting-room he was standing at the window, staring across the courtyard far below.
“Are you going?” she asked steadily.