“I really don’t know exactly.”
“She hasn’t finished her tea, perhaps?”
“I don’t know for certain. But she asked me to tell you she wasn’t coming back yet”—the two old ladies exchanged glances which Braybrooke longed to contradict—“as she is going to call on Lady Sellingworth presently.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Clem Hodson, gazing steadily at Fanny Cronin.
“In Berkeley Square!” added Braybrooke emphatically. “And to-night she is dining out.”
“Did she say where?” asked Miss Cronin, slightly moving her ears.
“No; she didn’t.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Cronin. “Good-bye, Mr. Braybrooke.”
She held out her hand like one making a large and difficult concession to her own Christianity. Mrs. Clem Hodson bowed again from the waist and also made a concession. She muttered, “Very glad to have met you!” and then cleared her throat, while the criss-cross of wrinkles moved all over her face.
“I will make it all right with the manager,” said Braybrooke, with over-anxious earnestness, and feeling now quite definitely that he must really have proposed to Miss Cronin for Miss Van Tuyn’s hand that afternoon, and that he must have just lied about the disposal of her time until she had to dress for dinner.