“When do you go to Buyukderer?”
“I shall probably go next week. I’ve very tired of Pera.”
“You look tired.”
“I didn’t mean physically. I’m never physically tired.”
“Extraordinary woman!” said Lady Ingleton, with a faint, unhumorous smile. “Come and see some Sevres I picked up at Christie’s. Carey is delighted with it, although, of course, horrified at the price I paid for it.”
She got up and went with Mrs. Clarke into one of the drawing-rooms. Dion Leith was not mentioned again.
That evening the Ingletons dined alone. Sir Carey said he must insist on a short honeymoon even though they were obliged to spend it in an Embassy. They had dinner in Bohemian fashion on a small round table in Lady Ingleton’s boudoir, and were waited upon by Sir Carey’s valet, a middle-aged Italian who had been for many years in his service and who had succeeded, in the way of Italian servants, in becoming one of the family. The Pekinese lay around solaced by the arrival of their mistress and of their doyenne.
When dinner was over and Sir Carey had lit his cigar, he breathed a sigh of contentment.
“At last I’m happy once more after all those months of solitude!”
He looked across at his wife, and added: