"John Landless! I shall not speak to you again for—ten minutes."
It was the jolliest breakfast. Mrs. Farquharson's bacon was always crisp; she could tell a strictly fresh egg as far as she could see it; if you had tossed one of her muffins into the air it would have floated out of the open window. "Tell her I said so," said John to little Genevieve.
It is a pity we know so little of Genevieve. One has an uneasy sense of having neglected her. Well—her young man loved her; and that is enough for Genevieve.
John stuffed the manuscript into his greatcoat pocket.
"Oh, dear, if I could only wish myself invisible for an hour and go with you to the publishers," said Phyllis. "It doesn't seem possible to wait until afternoon to hear what they say."
John reflected.
"You were going to Saint Ruth's this morning, weren't you?" he asked.
"Yes, I shall be there the whole morning. I don't believe one of those blessed babies will remember me. I have a little shopping to do, too."
"Why not do your shopping about eleven; meet me at Mildmay's, for luncheon, at one; and we will 'bus over to Saint Ruth's together, and make an afternoon of it."
Phyllis kissed him.