A gangway to the door being now clear, Clementina made perfunctory adieux to Quixtus and his friends; and henlike, marshalling her two chickens in front of her, sailed out of the tea-room.
“He doesn’t look at all horrid,” said Etta, when they reached the street. “I wonder what makes him behave so. And how generous of you, Tommy, to be so sweet to him!”
Tommy smiled as if he were compact of lofty qualities.
“I’ve been blessing him all the time,” he whispered in her ear, “for if it hadn’t been for his craziness I shouldn’t be here with you.”
Clementina trudged on in silence until they turned into the Rue Saint-Honoré, where their hotel was situated. Then she said suddenly:
“I don’t like your uncle, and I don’t like his friends. I’m sorry we ran into them. If we stayed on in Paris we should be running into them every day. I’m glad we’re clearing out to-morrow.”
Whereupon the Elf, who had returned from Elfland to haunt her, laughed immoderately; for he knew that at the bureau of the hotel a telegram was awaiting her.
CHAPTER XV
Clementina sat in the vestibule and fanned herself with the telegram. It was from Marseilles and had been telegraphed on from London. It ran:
“Doctors say I am dying. Come at once here Hôtel Louvre. Matter of life and death. Am wiring Quixtus also. For Heaven’s sake both come.—Will Hammersley.”