"I'll bet anything she was beautiful!"

"Most likely. Philip's very fastidious."

Helena meditated.

"I wonder if she had a good time?" she said at last.

"If she didn't, it couldn't have been Philip's fault!" said Cynthia, with
some vigour.

"No, really?"

The girl's note of interrogation was curiously provoking, and Cynthia
could have shaken her.

Suddenly through the open French windows of the library, a shrill
telephone call rang out. It came from the instrument on Buntingford's
desk, and the two outside could see him take up the receiver.

"Hullo!"

"It's a message from Dansworth," said Cynthia, springing to her feet.
"They've sent for him."

"Yes--yes--" came to them in Buntingford's deep assenting voice, as he
stood with the receiver to his ear. "All right--In an hour?--That's it.
Less, if possible? Well, I think we can do it in less. Good-bye."