"Can't we lose her?" he suggested. "I'm not used to a royal escort."
Glancing round him, he observed a Gallery close at hand where an Exhibition was advertised, and jumped at the way of escape.
"Come in and see the pictures." He raised his voice as he spoke.
"You really ought to—they're fine!—done by that man..." he spelled out the name.
Cydonia giggled, recovered herself and turned to the reluctant maid.
"Mason—we're going in here. Do you think, meanwhile, that you'd have time to run up to Marshall's and match that satin for my frock?"
"Yes, miss." The girl's face brightened. She much preferred to shop alone and dawdle down the long counters. "I'd be back within half-an-hour."
"Excellent," said McTaggart. As Cydonia passed through the doors he slipped his hand into his pocket and noiselessly tipped the maid.
"Take your time," he said kindly. The pale, subdued Cockney thanked him.
"Yes, sir. I understand."