He reached Basil Mansions just on the stroke of eleven. Leaving the car in the courtyard he walked across to Molly's flat, where the door was answered by the beautiful French maid, who looked purer than ever in the healthy morning sunshine.
As he entered the flat, Molly appeared in the hall. She was wearing a loose garment of green silk, caught together at the waist by a gold girdle. As a breakfast robe it erred perhaps on the side of the fantastic, but it had the merit of showing off her red hair to the best possible advantage.
"You nice old thing, Tony," she said. "I know you hate getting up early, too."
"I don't mind if there is anything to get up for," said Tony. "It's the barrenness of the morning that puts me off as a rule."
Molly slipped her bare arm through his, and led him into the sitting-room.
"You shall open the champagne," she said. "That will give you an interest in life."
She brought him up to a little satin-wood table, on which stood a silver tray, with some glasses and a couple of small bottles of Heidsieek. Tony looked at the labels.
Tony looked at the labels. "And do you mean to say," he remarked a little reproachfully, "that you really waste this on dramatic critics?" "I give them the choice," said Molly gravely. "They can either have that, or hold my hand. So far, they have always chosen the champagne."