"I know it was hard, but the thing had got to be done. How could I bludgeon her with the truth, whispered over a wire? Once face to face, the first glimpse of me will show her that I have lied to her. God help me!" said the Dop Doctor; "I told her I had stayed on here with Bawne to give him the treat of seeing a night-flying display."
"So clever," Saxham answered harshly, "that I shall probably regret it to the end of my days. In the whole of my practice I have never known a well-meant deceit do any good—rather the opposite. Consequently, I preach to my patients Truth before everything—and break down and lie when my own turn comes—like the damned coward I am."
"We shall leave here now in a few minutes," went on the Doctor, glowering at his chronometer. "I sent Keyse away with the car upon a message. He will be here to take us home to Harley Street at half-past nine. You have ample time to telephone to Berkeley Square for your clothes and so on.... Lady Beauvayse’s maid can pack them for you, I presume?"
"Oh, yes. She’s decent in the way of doing things for me."
The Doctor left the telegraph-hut, and Patrine ’phoned to Berkeley Square. Then, with a sudden recollection of an appointment which must be cancelled, she gave the number that meant Margot’s newly-furnished mansion, and presently heard the little bird-like voice chirping:
"Yes, this is 00, Cadogan Place. I’m Lady Norwater! ... Is that you, Pat? Yes? What cheer? ... I’m having a long, deadly domestic evening. Franky’s reading an improving book aloud to me—at least he was when you rang up—’Matrimony for Beginners. A Handbook to Happiness,’ it’s called. But I don’t believe the man who wrote it ever had a live wife."
"Probably not. Margot, pet, I can’t possibly lunch with you to-morrow!"
"Don’t say you back out because of the book! Fits has got it now under the sofa." Fits was Franky’s lady bull-terrier. "And by the time she’s done with it there won’t be much left. Say you’ll come!" Margot urged. "Franky’s got to test a new car—so Rhona Helvellyn’s coming with two or three Militant pals of hers. I’ll give you lobster _Américaine_ and cold lamb in mint aspic—and strawberry mousse. There!"
"I’m frightfully sorry, my dinkie, but it simply can’t be!"