“That’s precisely what I’ve been doing for the last minute or two,” he said, dryly.
“What do you mean?” Cecil asked, looking puzzled. “You haven’t told me anything.”
“Exactly.”
Cecil was forced to smile.
“No harm done,” he admitted. “You gave nothing away.”
“It’s a very useful habit in my line of business.”
But Sir Clinton’s interest in the approaching masked ball was apparently not yet exhausted.
“Large crowd coming?” he asked.
“Fairish, I believe. Most of the neighbours, I suppose. We’re putting up a few people for the night, of course; and there are three or four visitors on the premises already. It should be quite a decent show. I can’t give you even rough numbers, for Joan’s taken the invitation side of the thing entirely into her own hands—most mysterious about it, too. Hush! Hush! Very Secret! and all that kind of thing. She won’t even let us see her lists for fear of making it too easy to recognize people; so she’s had to arrange the catering side of the thing on her own as well.”
“She always was an independent kind of person,” Sir Clinton volunteered.