But she made her regard tender consolation for his discomfiture. “You haven’t told me about the play—our play—my play?”
“It’s finished.”
“Not really, Staff?” She clasped her hands in a charmingly impulsive way. He nodded, smiling. “Is it good?”
“You’ll have to tell me that—you and Max.”
“Oh—Max! He’s got to like what I like. When will you read it to me?”
“Whenever you wish.”
“This afternoon?”
“If you like.”
“Oh, good! Now I’m off for my nap—only I know I shan’t sleep, I’m so excited. Bring the ’script to me at two—say, half-past. Come to my sitting-room; we can be alone and quiet, and after you’ve finished we can have tea together and talk and—talk our silly heads off. You darling!”
She gave him a parting glance calculated to turn any man’s head, and swung off to her rooms, the very spirit of grace incarnate in her young and vigorous body.