“Yes, sir, number three.”
“And, Miss Ley?”
“Yes, sir, same number.”
“Ah!” He gave his moustache a twist, but he was not conscious of any particular feeling of relief, or indeed of any feeling except a slight surprise at himself.
“The ladies are well, I hope?”
“Quite well, thank’ee, sir. Do you wish me to send up your name?”
“No, thank you—er—that is—I should like to write a note. Can you give me a sheet of paper and an envelope?”
“Cert’nly, sir.” The porter, disappearing into a decorative sentry-box, emerged with pen and paper. He set them down upon a table. Giles wrote these words upon a sheet of paper:—“Langham Hotel, Wednesday.—May I come and see you to-morrow at 4 o’clock? G. L.” folded it, closed it in an envelope, and addressed it, “Miss Jocelyn Ley.” Then he stood, and looked at the porter, whose eyelid went up and down with regularity, giving the impression that he was continually endeavouring to relieve the stolidity of his visage with a wink.
“You will see Miss Ley to-morrow morning?”
“I can see her, if you wish, sir.”