"But it isn't!" she said wearily.
"Isn't what?" demanded John Dene.
"Shucks!" she said; then, seeing the absurdity of the thing, she laughed.
"We'll send your mother an express message or a wire. You look dead beat." He smiled and Dorothy capitulated. It would be nice, she told herself, not to have to go all the way to Chiswick before having anything to eat.
"But where are you taking me, Mr. Dene?" enquired Dorothy, as they turned from Waterloo Place into Pall Mall.
"To the Ritzton."
"But I'm—I'm——" she stopped dead.
"What's wrong?" he demanded, looking at her in surprise.
"I—I can't go there," she stammered. "I'm not dressed for——" She broke off lamely.
"That'll be all right," he said. "It's my hotel."