“Don’t trouble,” she cried, “I think that Miss Vanrenen wishes to go boating, so I will attend to the call myself. Perhaps Fitzroy’s presence may be dispensed with.”
The felt-lined telephone box was well screened off; as first impressions might be valuable, she adjusted the receivers carefully over both ears before she shouted “Hallo!”
“That you, my lord?” said a voice.
“Hallo!—who wants Fitzroy?” she asked in the gruffest tone she could adopt.
“It’s Dale, my—— But who is talking? Is that you, sir?”
“Go on. Can’t you hear?”
“Not very well, my lord, but I’m that upset.... It wasn’t my fault, but your lordship’s father dropped on to me at Bristol, an’ he’s here now. What am I to do?”
“My lordship’s father! What are you talking about? Who are you?”
“Isn’t that Lord—— Oh, dash it, aren’t you Miss Vanrenen’s chauffeur, Fitzroy?”
“No. This is the Symon’s Yat Hotel. The party is out now, and Fitzroy as well, but I can tell him anything you wish to say.”