Lady Holme looked at the card and then, quickly, at her husband.
“Why—do you know Miss Schley?” she asked.
“Not I.”
“Well then?”
“Fellows say she’s deuced takin’. That’s all. And she’s got a fetchin’ name—eh? Pimpernel.”
He repeated it twice and began to grin once more, and to bend and straighten his legs in the way which sometimes irritated his wife. Lady Holme was again looking at the card.
“Surely it isn’t Wednesday?” she said.
“Yes, it is. What did you think it was?”
“Tuesday—Monday—I don’t know.”
“Where’d you meet her?”