“Let’s go on to supper somewhere. We needn’t really have supper if you’re not hungry. We can just pretend and have another chat.”
“I thought ours was a dining club,” Marian replied, smiling. “No, thank you very much. I’ve had an awfully good time, but I’m tired.”
When she arrived home she was surprised to see that the dining room was lit up, still more surprised to find Geraldstein ensconced there, smoking a cigar, and a brandy and soda on the table beside him.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed, turning round. “I believe I was half asleep. I hope you don’t mind my having made myself at home?”
“I mind your being here at all,” Marian answered, angry at the thought of what would have occurred if West had returned with her. “You shouldn’t have come in when you found I wasn’t here.”
“My dear girl, what nonsense. Why not?”
“Because—I don’t like it.”
“You handsome little tyrant,” he said, laughing and lazily stretching himself. “You look uncommonly like Cleopatra, but I can’t flatter myself I’m an Antony. Don’t be cross.”
“I am cross. It’s late. Good night.”
“You’re alone, aren’t you?” he asked suspiciously.