“Harry dear,” he said, “I want you to come into the salon. Some one wishes to speak to you.”
“To me?”
“Yes. Harry, do you remember that evening in the kitchen when—Do you recall what I promised?”
“Yes, Peter.”
“You are sure you know what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“That's all right, then. McLean wants to see you.”
She hesitated, looking up at him.
“McLean? You look so grave, Peter. What is it?”
“He will tell you. Nothing alarming.”