“This is an answer to prayer!” exclaimed the young Scotsman, and though he smiled, he spoke as if he meant what he said. “I suppose it was presumptuous of me to hope that if you had received my letter you would have answered it?”
“Please forgive me,” said Lily penitently. “But yesterday was so full, I hadn’t a minute! And—and——”
“Yes?” he said eagerly.
“I’ll answer it now,” she said, “by telling you that I thought it was very kind of you to write it, and——”
“And?” he repeated.
“That I haven’t forgotten my promise! I’ll come at once to you if anything else happens to—to upset me again. Not that I expect anything to happen, but still, one never knows.”
“I want you to do me a kindness,” he said abruptly. “Popeau has entertained me very often, and I’ve never entertained him yet. Will you lunch with him and with me this morning? I’ve found quite a nice restaurant. Not as good as the Hôtel de Paris, but quite a decent place. Do, Miss Fairfield? I shall take it as a real kindness—the act of a friend!”
Poor Lily felt sorry indeed that she had engaged herself to the Italian lady.
“I wish I could,” she said ruefully. “But I’ve promised to go back to the Hôtel Hidalgo. The Marchesa Pescobaldi, who is a great friend of the Poldas, begged me to come, and I said I would. I don’t see how I can get out of it now——”
He remained silent.