“Where is Mr. Potter?” she asked.
“In the reception room downstairs, madam. He said he was in a great hurry, Madam,” as she remained silent. “He asked particularly to see you.”
“Very well; show him up. Wait—” as the servant started for the doorway. “Bring Mr. Potter upstairs in the lift.”
“Very good, Madam,” and, a second later, Mrs. Parsons was alone in her drawing room.
Leaning forward, she looked about the beautifully furnished room, then, convinced that she was its only occupant, she opened her vanity case and selecting a lip-stick, applied it, and added a touch of rouge. Lastly a powder-puff removed all outward traces of restless hours and weary waiting. She had just time to slip the puff and lip-stick inside her vanity box before the portières parted and Ben Potter hastened into the room. He stopped his rapid stride on catching sight of her and advanced more leisurely.
“Good evening, Cecilia,” he said, and paused in front of her.
She appeared not to see his half-extended hand, as she laid down her cigarette.
“Ah, Ben,” she remarked dryly. “I see that you still believe in the efficacy of a bribe.”
“If it is big enough,” composedly. “Your servant said you had denied yourself to callers so—voilà tout.”
“And why this desire to see me?”