Suddenly a cool little hand descended on his restless one.
“You can stop beating the devil’s tattoo on that table, Tony,” said an amused voice. “Here I am at last.”
He sprang up, regarding the new-comer with a mixture of satisfaction and resentment.
“You may well say ‘at last’!” he grumbled. Then the satisfaction completely swamping the resentment, he went on eagerly: “Sit down and tell me why I’ve been deprived of your company for the whole of this blessed day.”
Ann Lovell sat down obediently.
“You’ve been deprived of my society,” she replied with composure, “by some one who had a better right to it.”
“Lady Susan, I suppose?”—in resigned tones.
She assented smilingly.
“Yes. A companion-chauffeuse isn’t always at liberty to play about with the scapegrace young men of her acquaintance, you know. And this morning my employer was seized with a sudden desire to visit Aigle, so we drove over and lunched at a quaint old inn there. We’ve only just returned.”
As she spoke Ann stripped off her gloves, revealing a pair of slender hands that hardly looked as though they would be competent to manipulate the steering-wheel of a car. Yet there was more than one keen-eyed, red-tabbed soldier whom she had driven during the war who could testify to the complete efficiency of those same slim members.