She lay comfortably back in her chair with her legs crossed, swinging one foot.
"Rot! You wouldn't be such a sneak," she began.
"Now, Sonia," I repeated.
She looked at me, shrugged her shoulders and walked up the stairs in silence. I scribbled a note to Alan, put her in a taxi, and drove to Surrey House.
"I suppose you're not in a mood for good advice?" I asked, as we drove along Oxford Street.
"No-p," she answered shortly, and I held my peace. Curiosity, however, got the better of her, and she inquired whether I imagined she was not capable of looking after herself.
"I was wondering whether you appreciated what kind of woman frequents a place like the 'Cordon Bleu'?" I said.
"My dear George, I wasn't born yesterday," she answered.
"But if you dress in the same way, go to the same places, sup with the same men——"
"The difference is that I know where to stop, George."