"Yes," Geoffrey admitted reluctantly.
Harding put down his pencil. "I see. Now, I am not going to ask you whether your father disliked the engagement, because I know that he did. Also -"
"You seem to know the hell of a lot," muttered Geoffrey.
"I'm glad you are beginning to realise that," replied Harding calmly. "It is no use trying to put me off with these half-truths and evasions, you see. You are only giving me an impression I am perfectly sure you don't want me to have. On Monday morning you had a interview with your father, who was very angry with you. That is so, isn't it?"
"Yes," Geoffrey answered, somewhat subdued. "At least, he was angry about Lola."
"What was the result of that interview, Mr. Billington-Smith?"
"Well, we had a bit of a row — more than that, really , because he was absolutely livid with rage — and in the end he said I could get to hell out of his sight, and he going to cut off my allowance, and he never wanted to set eyes on me again. Not that that was likely to worry me , any of it, because as I said, we didn't hit it off, and as for starving in a ditch, which was the way he put it, money simply means nothing to me, and in any case I can support myself with my pen. I can tell you, it was a very jolly interview."
"It seems to have been," agreed Harding. "When it was over, what did you do?"
"Naturally I went up to tell Lola what had happened. It simply didn't occur to me that it would make any difference as far as she was concerned. Of course, being practically disowned was a bit of a bore, but I really wasn't worrying much then."
"You say you went up — I take it Miss de Silva had breakfasted in her room?"