“To-morrow! Oh, I—I—” He stopped.
“Jack!” Her voice dropped. It was true that she desired Chilcote's opinion on her adventure, for Chilcote's opinion on men and manners had a certain bitter shrewdness; but the exercise of her own power added a point to the desire. If the matter had ended with the gain or loss of a tete-a-tete with him, it is probable that, whatever its utility, she would not have pressed it, but the underlying motive was the stronger. Chilcote had been a satellite for years, and it was unpleasant that any satellite should drop away into space.
“Jack!” she said again, in a lower and still more effective tone; and, lifting her muff, she buried her face in her flowers. “I suppose I shall have to dine and go to a music-hall with Leonard—or stay at home by myself,” she murmured, looking out across the trees.
Again Chilcote glanced over the long, tan-strewn ride. They had made the full circuit of the park.
“It's tiresome being by one's self,” she murmured.
For a while he was irresponsive, then slowly his eyes returned to her face. He watched her for a second, and, leaning quickly towards her, he took his book and scribbled something in the vacant space.
She watched him interestedly; her face lighted up, and she laid aside her muff.
“Dear Jack!” she said. “How very sweet of you!”
Then, as he held the book towards her, her face fell. “Dine 33 Cadogan Gardens, 8 o'c. Talk with L.,” she read. “Why, you've forgotten the essential thing!”
He looked up. “The essential thing?”