“Waiting for me?”
“Yes. Lady Arabella asked me to shepherd you into the supper-room and see that you had a glass of champagne and a sandwich before the dancing begins.”
“Orders from headquarters?”—smiling up at him.
“Exactly.”
He held out his arm and they moved away together. As they passed through the crowded rooms one man murmured ironically to another:
“Quarrington’s got it badly, I should say.”
The second man glanced after the pair with amused eyes.
“So he’s the latest victim, is he? I head young Raynham’s nose was out of joint.”
“You don’t mean she’s fired him?”
The other nodded.