“They are going!” she whispered. “And they’re coming this way.”
As Mrs. Spencer and Snodgrass went by, the former with an intimate little look at Harleston, said confidentially:
“I’ll be ready at half-past three, Guy.”
“Very good!” Harleston answered promptly—when she was past, he looked at Mrs. Clephane.
“The cat!” she muttered; then smiled quizzically. “Such a pleasant air of proprietorship,” she observed.
“Too pleasant,” he returned. “I’ve something to tell you as to it and her, when the present matter is ended.”
“Will it keep?”
He nodded. “I can tell it better then—and have more time for the telling.”
The headwaiter approached casually, as though surveying the table.
“Well!” said Harleston.