“Wise schemer! I don’t mind the aspersion on my physical being. She urged, I suppose?”
“She did. I don’t know why.”
“I do.” Anthony smiled down at his wife. “Everybody is a bit curious about us these days. Your position, you see, is considered very extraordinary.”
“Nonsense, Tony. Shall we go?”
“Possibly we’d better, though it racks my soul to think of dressing. The less I wear my festive garments the less I want to. For that very reason, suppose we discipline ourselves and go. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. We’ll have to dress at once, for it’s nearly eight now, and by the time we have caught a train and got to Hollyhurst——”
“To be sure. Here goes, then.”
Half an hour later Anthony, wrestling with a refractory cuff button, looked up to see his wife at his elbow. She was very nearly a vision of elegance and beauty; the lacking essential was explained to him by a voice very much out of breath and a trifle petulant:
“If you care anything for me, Tony, stop everything and hook me up. I’m all mixed up, and I can’t reach, and I’m sure I’ve torn that little lace frill at the back.”
“All right. Where do I begin?”