The brutal truth of that lifted the woman to her feet. "I don't think I care for any more luncheon," she said in a shaking voice. "If you don't mind...."
Bellamy rose, bowing from his place: "Not at all."
He offered to help her with her fur, but she wouldn't have that, threw the garment over her arm and flung round the table, then checked and looked back. "You understand—this ends it—for all time?"
"I couldn't do you the injustice of thinking anything else."
She made a tempestuous exit through the curtains. Bellamy grunted in self-disgust, lighted a cigarette, and looked up to see the suavely concerned countenance of Theodore.
"Something is wrong, Mr. Druce? The lady——?"
"Was suddenly taken ill. Be good enough to cancel the rest of the order, Theodore, and let me have my bill. And—yes, think I will—you may send me a Scotch and soda."
Bellamy consulted his watch. Just on two: Linda's luncheon party would be in full swing. He had nothing better to do, might as well look in at the Ritz. Linda would like it....