With sudden decision she marched into the studio and took up the telephone and gave a number. Quixtus’s voice eventually answered. Who was there?
“It’s me. Clementina. Is Mr. Huckaby still with you?”
Huckaby had left half an hour ago.
“Can you give me his address? I want to ask him to come and see me. To come to tea. I like him so much, you know.”
The address came through the telephone. She noted it in her memory. Quixtus inquired for Sheila. Clementina gave him cheery news and rang off. All this was arrant disingenuousness and duplicity. But Clementina did not care. What woman ever does?
She ran up to her bedroom, thrust on a coat; pinned on the hat with the wobbly rose, and went out. In the King’s Road she found a taxi-cab. A quarter of an hour brought her to Huckaby’s lodgings.
He had spent a happy and untroubled day, and was finishing the “Phædo” with great enjoyment, when Clementina burst into the room. He leaped from his chair in amazement.
“My dear Miss Wing!”
“You infernal villain!” said Clementina.
Huckaby staggered back. To such a salutation it is difficult to respond in the ordinary terms of hospitality.