“Yes,” he said, but lingered a moment over Elliott’s shoulder, watching him pick out the lights in his sketch with a bit of bread.

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” he observed after a moment’s silence.

“Well?” inquired Elliott.

“Have you seen Colette?”

“No, I will tonight. She and Rowden and Jacqueline are coming to Boulant’s. I suppose you and Cécile will be there?”

“Well, no,” replied Clifford. “Cécile dines at home tonight, and I⁠—I had an idea of going to Mignon’s.”

Elliott looked at him with disapproval.

“You can make all the arrangements for La Roche without me,” he continued, avoiding Elliott’s eyes.

“What are you up to now?”