“Dearest old Potsie,—Have got a ripping little supper on to-night. Man’s away, and we will have some fun. Have asked several kindred spirits. Shall look for you at ten.
“Your ever-devoted ‘Dodo.’”
“I can’t go,” he mutters. “Hang the woman, I’m sick of her! She was all very well a little while ago, but nothing will satisfy me but Speranza now. I will have her or nobody; and if I don’t have her, I will have what’s next best, revenge.”
He writes a note hastily. It is to excuse himself. He has an awful headache, and cannot come.
Lady Manderton gets the note a quarter of an hour later, and bites her lip as she reads it. “Never mind,” she says quietly, “he sha’n’t have another chance. My next man is Spicer. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s awfully in love, and he’ll be very useful. He’ll do.”
She sits down and writes another note. It is addressed to the Hon. Amias Spicer, Grenadier Guards. She sends him the same sort of invitation which she sent to Lord Westray.
It is not long before an answer comes back. Amias Spicer is in the seventh heaven. He will be sure to come.
And at ten o’clock he comes punctually. Poor young fool!
