"This is Mrs. Waddington."
"Oh, ah? Many happy returns."
"What are you doing just now?"
"I was thinking of popping out and having a bit to eat."
"Meet me at the Ritz-Carlton in ten minutes."
"Right-ho. Thanks, awfully. I will. Yes. Thanks. Right. Fine. Absolutely. Right-ho."
So now we find Mrs. Waddington seated in the vestibule of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, watching the door like a cat at a mouse-hole and tapping the carpet impatiently with an ample shoe. Like everybody else who has ever waited five minutes for anybody in a restaurant, she had the illusion of having been there for several hours. But at last her patience was rewarded. An elegant figure shimmered through the doorway and came towards her, beaming with happy anticipation. Lord Hunstanton was a man who combined a keen appetite with a rugged distaste for paying for his own meals, and the prospect of a dinner at the Ritz at somebody else's expense enchanted him. He did not actually lick his lips, but as he looked brightly up the stairs to where benevolent waiters were plying contented diners with food, there flitted across his face a radiant smile.
"Hope I'm not late," said Lord Hunstanton.
"Sit down," said Mrs. Waddington. "I want to talk to you." And proceeded to do so at some length.
Lord Hunstanton blinked pathetically.