So Fayre travelled from Staveley Grange after the approved Staveley fashion and was glad he had done so, for, as he was waiting for his train at Whitbury he was joined by Miss Allen, whom he would undoubtedly have missed in the crowd at Carlisle. She, too, was on her way to London and she and Fayre dined very pleasantly together in the restaurant car. He found, as he had suspected, that she improved on acquaintance and they sat talking for some time after the meal ended.
Fayre wondered later, as he sat huddled in his stuffy corner, waiting for the sleep that would not come, what she would have said if she had known the reason of his journey to town.
“The whole cast of the melodrama seems to be moving to London,” he thought whimsically. “Though what we’re all going to do there, goodness knows! It would be more satisfactory, too, if one knew which of us was the villain of the piece!”
Chapter XVII
Fayre saw Miss Allen into a cab and then drove straight to his club. After a hot bath and a leisurely breakfast he felt better able to face the world, but he was not sorry to spend a quiet Sunday morning drowsing in front of the smoking-room fire and it was with a distinct effort that he turned out, shortly before one, to keep his appointment with Grey at the Trocadero.
He found the solicitor already seated and busy studying the wine-card. At the sight of Fayre he sprang to his feet and greeted him with a mixture of enthusiasm and deference which the older man found refreshing in these casual days.
“How about a pick-me-up, sir?” he asked, with a keen glance at his guest. “Or do you despise cocktails?”
“They have their uses,” admitted Fayre, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “especially after a long night in the train, but I’m not such a dug-out as you might think, you know!”
Grey laughed.
“I didn’t mean that!” he apologized hastily. “Only you look a bit done up.”