"In Margaret Street—my mother is with me."
"Indeed? Do you think she would receive me, if I were to pay a short call?"
"I am sure she would be pleased. But you will not find her at home now; she has gone to the theatre."
"At this hour?"
"She is dining at her club first. She does not like lodging-house food."
"Do you?"
"Oh, food makes very little difference to me. I put up with it, for I am too tired to go and dine out, after a long day with Pansy."
"I wish you would come and dine with me. I know a charming place quite near here, where they give you Italian things—you are so fond of Italy. Let me take you and give you something to eat, and then you shall go straight back to your rooms and rest. There is so much I want to hear."
Her brows knit. "I have nothing to tell you," she answered slowly.
He blamed himself for having risked the last sentence.