"Your father is here, I am informed. And you must have other friends or relatives who—"
"I shall go to a small hotel I know near Trafalgar Square," she interrupted quietly. "You must not come there to see me, Brandon."
"I shall expect you to dine with me at—say Prince's this evening," was his response to this.
She shook her head and then turned to look out of the window. He sat back in his seat and for many miles, with deep perplexity in his eyes, studied her half-averted face. The old uneasiness returned. Was this obstacle, after all, so great that it could not be overcome?
They lunched together, but were singularly reserved all through the meal. A plan was growing in her brain, a cruel but effective plan that made her despise herself and yet contained the only means of escape from an even more cruel situation.
He drove with her from the station to the small hotel off Trafalgar Square. There were no rooms to be had. It was the week of Ascot and the city was still crowded with people who awaited only the royal sign to break the fetters that bound them to London. Somewhat perturbed, she allowed him to escort her to several hotels of a like character. Failing in each case, she was in despair. At last she plucked up the courage to say to him, not without constraint and embarrassment:
"I think, Brandon, if you were to allow me to apply ALONE to one of these places I could get in without much trouble."
"Good Lord!" he gasped, going very red with dismay. "What a fool I—"
"I'll try the Savoy," she said quickly, and then laughed at him. His face was the picture of distress.
"I shall come for you at eight," he said, stopping the taxi at once. "Good-bye till then."