"To my damn fool of a son."
She tried to free herself, but the grasp on her elbow tightened. For Rear-Admiral Billy, rushing hot-foot out of Sir Peter's offices and--directed by the commissionaire--down the Embankment in pursuit of his son's wife, had determined to take no more advice from lawyers.
"My damn fool of a son's been asking to see you for days," he panted. "Sir Peter--silly old codger--said it was not advisable."
It flashed through Aliette's distraught mind that she must be having a nightmare. A nightmare! Billy's beard meshed his words. Billy would go on walking, walking and talking and gripping her by the arm until she woke up. But it couldn't be a nightmare. Billy was real--real. Billy was dragging her away from Ronnie, dragging her back to Hector. They were within ten yards of Hector's chambers. She recognized the stone stairs, the lamp.
Stubbornly, then, she dug her heels into the gravel. Stubbornly--one thought only in her mind--she faced her panting captor.
"Billy, I'm not going in there."
"Why on earth not? Hector won't eat you."
"Ronnie wouldn't like it."
"Can't help that. Hector's game to divorce you. That's enough for you."
"It isn't." Other thoughts, terrible thoughts, harried her. "It isn't. Billy, you've just come from Sir Peter's. Did he tell you anything--anything about the codicil--anything about me?"