"You'll come upstairs, won't you?" she asked when they were in the hall of the hotel. Noel thought her invitation somewhat perfunctory. He suspected she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Nevertheless, he meant to come, presently.
"Yes, I'll be up in a minute," he said. "You go on. I've got to ring up somebody."
The lift carried her up out of his sight and he went into the telephone booth and rang up Madame Claire. Her telephone stood on a table close beside her chair, and he had hardly a second to wait before she answered.
"Yes? Oh, it's you, Noel. Where are you?"
He told her. Then he described briefly the luncheon at Claridge's and what befell there.
"I saw the announcement of his concert in last Sunday's paper," she said. "Connie never reads the papers, or she would have seen it herself. What is he like now?"
"I don't want to use offensive language over the telephone," he answered.
He heard Madame Claire's laugh.
"Well, Noel, I think the whole thing is in your hands. You are the only one who can do anything with her. If I say anything she will only tell me I am tryng to rob her of her happiness.
