"Of course. I've got to be there. Haven't I?"
"It might be better for your interests."
"Then I'll be there. Well, good-bye, Miss Nevers."
"Good-bye, Mr. Desboro."
"And thank you for undertaking it," he said cordially.
"Thank you for asking me."
"Oh, I'm—I'm really delighted. It's most kind of you. Good-bye, Miss Nevers."
"Good-bye, Mr. Desboro."
He had to go that time; and he went still retaining a confused vision of blue eyes and vivid lips, and of a single lock of hair astray once more across a smooth, white cheek.
When he had gone, Jacqueline seated herself at her desk and picked up her pen. She remained so for a while, then emerged abruptly from a fit of abstraction and sorted some papers unnecessarily. When she had arranged them to her fancy, she rearranged them. Then the little Louis XVI desk interested her, and she examined the inset placques of flowered Sèvres in detail, as though the little desk of tulip, satinwood and walnut had not stood there since she was a child.