Marjorie hesitated.
"I don't think I can," she said. "I have no particular claim—"
"No claim? Didn't you drive his silly old car in all weathers for nearly a year? Didn't he tell you to come back and see him whenever you had time? It's no use being modest when you're starving. If you don't go and see him, I shall."
"Then I may as well tell you, dear," announced Marjorie, "that I have been already."
"Why didn't you say so before?"
"I didn't want to disappoint you."
"Why? Were you chucked out?"
"No. He's away in Paris, on an indefinite mission. The butler was very nice about it, but he had no information as to when his lordship would be back. I hadn't been entirely forgotten, though. There was a message for me. It had been lying there for weeks."
"What did it say?"
"It was just a scribbled note in an envelope with my motor licence, which I had left behind in the garage." Marjorie crossed the room to her little bureau. "Here it is! It says: