Maddison spoke truly when he said that to him comfort was one of the saving graces of life, indeed to him it was almost the only one. This entry of Squire upon the scene and this turning a comedy into a domestic drama vexed and annoyed him. It had not occurred to him that any man would act so unconventionally as Squire had done. Marian had told him that her husband would not divorce her, looking as he did upon marriage as a sacramental bond which no man had a right to break; so Maddison had thought that there might be an appeal to Marian if Squire discovered her whereabouts, an angry scene very likely and then peace. But it had not entered into his calculations that Squire would be so persistent; this type of man was new and unknown to him, of a kind that he did not understand how best to tackle. To discuss the situation with Marian would be distasteful; there remained only Mortimer to whom he could speak frankly, relying upon the good common sense of any advice he might obtain from him.
At this hour of the morning Mortimer should be at his office, and there Maddison rang him up.
“Is Mr. Mortimer in?”
“Which one?” was the brusque reply.
“Mr. Frederick.”
“Don’t know. Who is it?”
“Tell him Mr. Maddison wants to speak to him for a minute.”
“Hold the line.”
Mortimer gladly accepted Maddison’s invitation to lunch.
“But why on earth come down to this dreary part of town?” he asked. “Don’t deprive me of a lovely excuse for leaving here early and coming back late—if at all. Meet me outside the Palace, and I’ll take you to a tidy little French restaurant I’ve just discovered and haven’t yet found out. One o’clock—all right!”