'Well'--his nose crinkled at her remark--'then let us go to Claridge's.
Miss Durwent, I know I'm too persistent, but it would be a wonderful
ending to a bully day. You know you'll be bored at Lady Chisworth's,
and I shall be if you don't come.'

'Humph!' She stood on the first of the stone steps, her agile
gracefulness lending itself to the picture of healthy, roseate youth.

'Where could we meet?'

'Let me call for you.'

'N-no. That wouldn't do.'

'Would your mother object?'

'Heavens, no!--but the servants would. You see, English morality is
largely living up to your servants--and we met only last night.'

'But you will come?' He crossed his hands behind his back and swung
the crop against his boots.

'Mr. Selwyn,' she said, 'your books should be very interesting.'

'From now on they will be,' he said, 'if'----

'All right,' she interrupted him with something of the staccato
mannerism of the evening before. 'I'll motor down in my little car,
and we'll go to the Café Rouge.'