This was intolerable. She strained her eyes for the little red flag of freedom. Then, as she had told her visitor of a day or two before:
“He’s gone abroad—on important business.”
“And not taken you with him?”
“His business isn’t ordinary business,” she said instinctively. Then she recognized she was covering him with his own cloak. Her pale cheeks flushed.
“So that’s it,” said Lydia smiling. “You’re a poor little grass widow. You want bucking up, my dear. A bit of old times. Come and do a dinner and a theatre with us. Sydney would love to see you again. We’ll steer clear of naughty old Mavenna——”
She had to stop; for Olivia had rushed across the pavement and was holding up her little embroidered bag at arm’s length, and the Heaven-sent taxi was drawing up to the kerb.
Lydia followed her and stood while she entered the cab.
“You’ll come, won’t you, dear?”
“I’ll telephone,” said Olivia. She put out a hand. “Good-bye. It has been so pleasant seeing you again.”
Lydia shook hands and smiled in her prosperous, contented way. Then she said: