“Joan,” said Mr. Fortune, “you’re not to go into her house.”
“Reggie!” said the telephone.
“That’s that,” said Mr. Fortune. “I’ll speak to Lady Chantry.”
Lady Chantry was at home. She sat in her austerely pleasant drawing-room, toasting a foot at the fire, a small foot which brought out a pretty leg. Of course she was in black with some white about her neck, but the loose gown had grace. She smiled at him and tossed back her hair. Not a thread of white showed in its crisp brown and it occurred to Reggie that he had never seen a woman of her age carry off bobbed hair so well. What was her age? Her eyes were as bright as a bird’s and her clear pallor was unfurrowed.
“So good of you, Mr. Fortune——”
“Miss Amber has just told me——”
They spoke together. She got the lead then. “It was kind of her to let you know at once. But she’s always kind, isn’t she? I did so want you to come, and make friends with me before you’re married, and it will be very soon now, won’t it? Oh, but do let me give you some tea.”
“No tea, thank you.”
“Won’t you? Well, please ring the bell. I don’t know how men can exist without tea. But most of them don’t now, do they? You’re almost unique, you know. I suppose it’s the penalty of greatness.”
“I came round to say that Miss Amber won’t be able to dine with you, Lady Chantry.”