“We can talk it all over quietly. Fritz!”
“What’s that about the Elwyns?” said Lord Holme.
“I was telling Mr. Ulford that we are going on there.”
“I’m not. Never heard of it.”
Lady Holme was on the point of retorting that it was he who had told her to accept the invitation on the ground that “the Elwyns always do you better than anyone in London, whether they’re second-raters or not,” but a look in Leo Ulford’s eyes checked her.
“Very well,” she said. “Go to the club if you like; but I must peep in for five minutes. Mrs. Ulford, didn’t you think Miss Schley rather delicious—?”
She went out of the box with one hand on a pink arm, talking gently into the trumpet.
“You goin’ to the Elwyns?” said Lord Holme, gruffly, to Leo Ulford as they got their coats and prepared to follow.
“Depends on my wife. If she’s done up—”
“Ah!” said Lord Holme, striking a match, and holding out his cigarette case, regardless of regulations.