“What d’you mean—mad?”
“You’ve made Martha Brayley my enemy for life.”
“Rubbish!”
“I beg your pardon. And for—for—”
She stopped. It was wiser not to go on. Perhaps her face spoke for her, even to so dull an observer as Lord Holme, for he suddenly said, with a complete change of tone:
“I forgave you about Carey.”
“Oh, I see! You want a quid pro quo. Thank you, Fritz.”
“Don’t forget to tip Lady Brayley a note of thanks,” he said rather loudly, getting up from his chair.
“Oh, thanks! You certainly ought to be an ambassador—at the court of some savage monarch.”
He said nothing, but walked out of the room whistling the refrain about Ina.