“Please—please!” pleaded Jennings from under his sombrero. “Dick would revel in you. You would whip him into brilliance. I know it. You admire his work, surely?”
“I admire it very much.”
“And he is more wonderful still when he’s drunk. And to-night—I feel it—he will be drunk. I pledge myself that Dick Garstin will be drunk.”
“I’m sure it would be a very great privilege to see Mr. Garstin drunk. But I must go home. Good night, dear Beryl.”
“But the little Bolshevik! You must meet the little Bolshevik!” cried Jennings.
Lady Sellingworth shook her deer-like head, smiling.
“Good night, Mr. Craven.”
“But he is going to get you a taxi,” said Miss Van Tuyn.
“Yes, and if you will allow me I am going to leave you at your door,” said Craven, with decision.
A line appeared in Miss Van Tuyn’s low forehead, but she only said: