“Not at all.”
Darcy’s misgivings livened into something like terror.
“Where, then?”
“To see Maud and Helen.”
“What for?”
“To recount to them the authentic and interesting history of Sir Montrose Veyze, Bart., hand-picked fiancé, of—”
“Gloria! You wouldn’t be so base!”
“I would be just that base,” returned the other in the measured tones of judgment. “But I’ll give you a respite until your next training day. When is it?”
“Day after to-morrow,” answered Darcy faintly.
“If you aren’t at Andy’s then to answer to the call of time, I’ll tell the whole thing to the two fiancées with whatever extra details my imagination can provide.”