"Do you know," said she, "this is almost like Fate. It gives us a chance to meet under the same roof quite properly since your uncle is there—not that I care a button for the world, but still, there are the proprieties, aren't there?"
"There are."
"Wait for me," said she. "I want to go into my publishers' with this manuscript."
They had reached a fashionable publishers' office that had the appearance of a bank premises. In she went, returning in a moment empty-handed.
"Now I'm free," said she; "free for a month. What are you doing to-day?"
"I'll be looking for Uncle Simon," he replied. "I must rush back to the Charing Cross Hotel, and after that—I must go on hunting. I'll see you to-morrow, Julia."
"Are you staying at the Charing Cross?"
"No, I'm staying at B12, the Albany, with a man called Tozer."
"I wish we could have had the day together. Well, to-morrow, then."
"To-morrow," said Bobby.