“And so you think of leaving?” she said after a long silence, during which she drew eccentric circles in the sand with the tip of her parasol.
“My kismet says ‘yes,’ Miss Jyvecote.”
“Does your kismet say whither?”
“It points to that little village on the Thames called London.”
“We go to London next month, en route to Egypt. My sister Gussie—you never met her—who has been in Italy with my uncle, is recommended Egypt for her chest. Papa received letters yesterday.”
“How long do you think you will remain in London?”
“Only a day or two.”
“Might I hope to see you?”
“Why not? Our address is 91 Bruton Street, Mayfair.”
“Is—is Mr. Delmege, of the Guards, going to Egypt?”