"The smoking room."
"Say what she wanted?"
"To see you, sir—very imperative."
Barraclough bit his moustache and glanced at the clock.
"Hm! I've ten minutes. Yes, all right. If the gentlemen arrive meanwhile put 'em in the smoking room. Get a coat. Shan't be a second."
He disappeared into the bedroom and Doran went out to fetch Isabel.
"If you'll take a chair, miss, he won't keep you a moment. The evening paper?"
"No," she said, "no."
It was a very different Isabel from the curled up little person who sat on the cushions. Her face was white and tense—her mouth drawn in a line of determination. She shook her head at the offer of a chair and waved Doran to go away.
"Tony," she called as soon as the door had closed. "Tony."