“Quite sure.”
“He must be a very handsome fellow,” said Sir Eustace plaintively. “Some young whippersnapper in Durban, I suppose, who puts my mature charms completely in the shade. By the way, Pagett’s going down in the car in a minute or two. He could take you to the station.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” I said hastily. “ Mrs. Blair and I have got our own taxi ordered.”
To go down with Guy Pagett was the last thing I wanted! Sir Eustace looked at me attentively.
“I don’t believe you like Pagett. I don’t blame you. Of all the officious, interfering asses—going about with the air of a martyr, and doing everything he can to annoy and upset me!”
“What has he done now?” I inquired with some curiosity.
“He’s got hold of a secretary for me. You never saw such a woman! Forty, if she’s a day, wears pince-nez and sensible boots and an air of brisk efficiency that will be the death of me. A regular slab-faced woman.”
“Won’t she hold your hand?”
“I devoutly hope not!” exclaimed Sir Eustace. “That would be the last straw. Well, goodbye, liquid eyes. If I shoot a lion I shan’t give you the skin—after the base way you’ve deserted me.”
He squeezed my hand warmly and we parted. Suzanne was waiting for me in the hall. She was to come down to see me off.
“Let’s start at once,” I said hastily, and motioned to the man to get a taxi.
Then a voice behind me made me start: