“Very possibly,” said Baltazar.
Donnithorpe turned in his rat-like way to his wife.
“What have you to say about it?”
Suddenly recovered from her fit of terror and shame, she withdrew her grip from Baltazar’s arm and held herself up with the scornful poise of her head.
“Nothing,” she said. “You can flatter yourself now you know everything.”
He did not heed her words, but once more looked from one to the other with a thin, chuckling laugh.
“You’re a pretty pair. You, my lady. And you, Mr. Minister of Publicity. It strikes me you’ll have to postpone your elopement.”
“You’ve got elopement on the brain, my good fellow,” said Baltazar. “A Minister of Publicity doesn’t elope with a lady with nothing but what he stands up in. Where’s my luggage?”
“There,” replied Donnithorpe, pointing to the barriers to the platform. “Didn’t the porter say she had ordered two seats—one for a gentleman?”
“This is getting wearisome,” said Lady Edna. “I’ve already told you how the mistake arose.”