"Could I have just a word with you?" Mr. Rodney said, in a voice not wholly unlike that of a sucking dove.
"Certainly," replied Mrs. Verulam. "Where?"
"I think there is no one in the pink boudoir."
"Let us go there, then."
They went, furtively watched by Mr. Harrison, who had just returned from the fishing-cottage in possession of that rather unacceptable belonging usually called a flea in the ear. For he had found the Emperor in a terrible condition of fury over the James Bush business and various other incidents of the preceding day. When Mrs. Verulam and Mr. Rodney had gained the pink boudoir, the latter carefully closed the pink door, walked very gently up to Mrs. Verulam, and said:
"Where do you think of watching the races from, may I venture to ask?"
"Where from? The Enclosure, of course!"
"Shall we sit down for a moment?" replied Mr. Rodney, with a consummate endeavour after genial ease.
They sat down on a couple of flesh-coloured chairs and he proceeded with extraordinary blandness: