“I want my season at once,” Miss Sinquier said.
Mrs. Sixsmith toyed with her rings.
“What do you say,” she asked, “to making an informal début (before ‘royal’ auspices!) at the Esmé Fisher ‘Farewell’ coming off next week?”
“Why not!”
“Some of the stage’s brightest ornaments have consented to appear.”
“I’d like particulars.”
“I’ll send a note to the secretary, Miss Willinghorse, straight away,” Mrs. Sixsmith murmured, gathering up her constant Juno beneath her arm, and looking about her for some ink.
“Send it later, from the Café Royal.”
“I can’t go any more to the Café Royal,” Mrs. Sixsmith said. “I owe money there.... To all the waiters.”
“Wait till after we’ve seen the Washingtons.”