“I’ll walk home with you to-night, old Dion. I must yap across the Park with you to Hyde Park Corner, and tell you all about the woman from Constantinople.”
They were going upstairs.
“The woman——?”
“My client, my client. My dear boy, this is no ordinary case”—he waved a small hand ceremoniously—“it’s a cause celebre or I shouldn’t have bothered myself with it.”
Lurby opened the drawing-room door.
“How’s Rosamund?” was Beatrice’s first question to Dion, as they shook hands.
“All right. I left her just going to feed from a tray in her little room.”
“Rosamund always loved having a meal on a tray,” said Bruce Evelin. “She’s a big child still. But enthusiasts never really grow up, luckily for them.”
“Dinner is served, sir.”
“Daventry, will you take Beatrice?”