“That she wished to speak to me, to dance with me.”
“She said that? How can you know?”
“Oh, I wasn’t so drunk that I couldn’t hear the voice from Eden. Pierce, you know her. She likes you. Tell her to forgive as much as she can. Will you? And tell her not to carry the fan again when fools like me are about.”
And then, without more words, he went out of the room and left Robin standing alone.
Robin looked at the statuette, and remembered what Sir Donald Ulford had said directly he saw it—“Forgive me, that fan makes that statuette wicked.”
“Poor old Carey!” he murmured.
His indignation at Carey’s conduct, which had been hot, had nearly died away.
“If I had told him what she said about him at supper!” he thought.
And then he began to wonder whether Lady Holme had changed her mind on that subject. Surely she must have changed it. But one never knew—with women. He took up his hat and gloves and went out. If Lady Holme was in he meant to give her Carey’s message. It was impossible to be jealous of Carey now.
Lady Holme was not in.