Patricia spent some time and some thought upon her toilet. Deep sea-green was her color, for it matched her eyes, which to-night were unfathomable. In the midst of her dainty occupation she turned her head over her shoulder and called her husband. Mortimer Crabb appeared in the door of his dressing-room which adjoined, one side of his face shaved, the other white with lather.
“What is it?” he mumbled.
Patricia contemplated the back of her head at the dressing-table by the aid of a hand mirror, removed the hairpins one by one from her mouth and deliberately placed them before she replied.
“Mort,” she said, slowly, “I want you to take Aurora out for a ride in the motor——”
“To-night! Oh, I say, Patty——”
“To-night,” she said, firmly. “I’ll arrange it. It will be dark and you’re going to lose your way——”
“How do you know I am?”
“Because I tell you so, stupid! You’ve got to lose your way—for three hours.”
He looked at her shrewdly.