He looked keenly at her, and less good-humouredly than of wont. These persons never shook hands, and indeed dispensed, as a rule, with all forms of civility.
‘What are you staring at?’ asked Crewe bluffly.
‘What are you staring at?’
‘Nothing, that I know.’ He hung up his hat, and sat down. ‘I’ve a note to write; wait a minute.’
The note written, and given to a clerk, Crewe seemed to recover equanimity. His visitor told him all that happened in De Crespigny Park, even to the crudest details, and they laughed together uproariously.
‘I’m going to take a flat,’ Beatrice then informed him. ‘Just find me something convenient and moderate, will you? A bachelor’s flat.’
‘What about Fanny?’
‘She has something on; I don’t know what it is. Talks about going to Brussels—with a friend.’
Crewe looked astonished.
‘You ought to see after her. I know what the end ‘ll be. Brussels? I’ve heard of English girls going there, but they don’t usually come back.’