"I must go back! Oh, I must!" said Sybil's voice. "We shall miss the train—please let me."
"My cousin cannot be any time. Most annoying her being out all day. Don't spoil a perfect day, little Sybil. There's a late train we can catch. Or, better still, hire a car and drive up."
Esmé turned swiftly to her somewhat bewildered cavalier.
"Oh, Mr Beerhaven," she said. "Will you go to the telephone—order dinner at the Metropole, and see if they have quails—and peaches. It's the best place, after all. I'll wait here for you. Hurry, or they won't have shot the quails."
Angy left, ruminating on the logic of women.
"But give me my letters," she heard Sybil plead. "Please do! You promised them if I came here to-day."
"I promised—I will fulfil. After dinner you shall have your letters, little girl. Now, don't get silly and nervous."
"Of course I'll send you that money when I can," Sybil faltered, "but—"
"I won't ask you for the money. You were a good child to come here, little Sybil."
Esmé looked in.