Cecil picked up the card, inscribed with the orthodox printed lines, beneath which a few words had been written.
Mrs Willoughby,
At Home
May 26th, 9 p.m.
Music.
“Have just received your address from Mrs Fanshawe. Shall hope to see you to-morrow.—E.B.W.”
Cecil screwed up her face in disparagement.
“Nine o’clock. Mayfair. That means a taxi both ways. Can’t arrive at a house like that in a mackintosh, with your shoes in a bag. Much wiser to refuse. It will only unsettle you, and make you unfit for work. She’s done the polite thing for once, because she was asked, but she’ll never do it again. I’ve been through it myself, and I know the ropes. A woman like that has hundreds of friends; why should she bother about you? You’ll never be asked again.”
But at that Claire laughed, and beat her hand on the table.
“But I say I shall! I say I’ll be asked often! I don’t care if you’ve had a hundred experiences, mine shall be different. She has asked me once; now, as the Yankees say, ‘it’s up to me’ to do the rest. I’ll make up my mind to make her want to ask me!”