She ran out of the studio to the little cabinet where her telephone was. I heard the following, her side of the conversation that ensued.
"Is that 9199? Miss Oliphant would like to speak to Mrs Aird, please.... Is that you, Madge? Yes, this is my dinner-call.... Oh, like a top, and I know your phone's by your bed. Madge, my dear, I want to know who that learned person was I was talking to last night: yes, the bibliomaniac person.... Who?" Then, with a jump of her voice, "What, he's staying with you? He's in the house now? Do send for him immediately.... Of course not, you goose, but you have an extension, haven't you?..."
And then this:
"Oh, good morning! Miss Oliphant speaking.... Ah, you've forgotten!... Most frightfully excited about our conversation last night. Will you tell me again the title of that book and whether I can see it in the British Museum? Wait a minute, I want to write it down...."
Then, carefully and as it were a letter at a time:
"Manuel—du—Répertoire—Bibliographique—Universel.... Yes, I've got that.... Paris, 44, Rue de Rennes.... Now the other book, please.... Decimal Classification and Relative Index.... Yes.... Melvil Dewey.... Is that enough to identify them?"
Then a rapid perfunctory gush, a "Thank you so much," the receiver clapped on again, and re-enter Julia, her face ashine with triumph.
"Well, did you hear all that?" she said. "You can take me along to the British Museum as soon as you like. You'll have to get me into the reading-room, because I haven't a ticket. Then if I were you I should trot away off to Haslemere."
"Who's that you were talking to?"
"A most fearful bore I met at the Airds' at dinner last night. At least I thought he was a bore then. Now he's a duck and an angel and I could kiss him all over his bald old head. Goodness is always rewarded, George, but not often the next morning like this." She clapped her hands.