Leo Ulford was coming down the gallery with a gaunt, aristocratic, harsh-featured girl. Behind him walked Mr. Bry, conducting a very young old woman, immensely smart, immensely vivacious, and immensely pink, who moved with an unnecessary alertness that was birdlike, and turned her head about sharply on a long, thin neck decorated with a large diamond dog-collar. Slung at her side there was a tiny jewelled tube.
“That’s Mrs. Leo.”
“She must be over sixty.”
“She is.”
The quartet sat down at the next table. Leo Ulford did not see Lady Holme at once. When he caught sight of her, he got up, came to her, stood over her and pressed her hand.
“Been away,” he explained. “Only back to-night.”
“I’ve been complaining to your father about you.”
A slow smile overspread his chubby face.
“May I see you again after supper?”
“If you can find me.”