"Mrs. Deane said ten minutes, and they are
more than up. You see the carriage is waiting there to take you to
the Opera."
She turned away reluctantly.
"Come with us," she begged, "or give us some supper afterwards. Mrs.
Deane would like that."
"I'll meet you afterwards," he said. "I am not in the mood for music
to-night."
"Very well," she answered. "If Mrs. Deane doesn't care about supper you
can drive me home. Our talks always seem to be interrupted, and there is
so much I want to say to you."
In the lobby of Covent Garden he met Littleson, who had paused to light
a cigarette on his way out. He stepped forward and addressed
Vine eagerly.
"I was trying to find you only this afternoon," he said. "Can you come
around to the club with me now, and have a talk?"
"Sorry," Vine answered. "I am here to meet some friends who will be out
directly."
"Will you lunch with me to-morrow?" Littleson asked.
"No!" Vine answered. "To tell you the truth, nothing would induce me to
accept any hospitality at your hands."
"You have made up your mind, then?" Littleson asked slowly.
"Never mind about that," Vine answered. "I have said all that I have to
say to you and your friends.
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