A telephone-bell had been ringing for the last few seconds, and Mrs. Quantock localized it as being in his house, not hers. Georgie was rather deaf, however much he pretended not to be. “Your telephone bell’s ringing, Georgie,” she said. “I thought it was,” said Georgie, who had not heard it at all. “And come in presently for a cup of tea,” shouted Mrs. Quantock. “Should love to. But I must have a bath first.” Georgie hurried indoors, for a telephone call usually meant a little gossip with a friend. A very familiar voice, though a little husky and broken, asked if it was he. “Yes, it’s me, Lucia,” he said in soft firm tones of sympathy. “How are you?” Lucia sighed. It was a long, very audible, intentional sigh. Georgie could visualize her putting her mouth quite close to the telephone, so as to make sure it carried. “Quite well,” she said. “And so is my Pepino, thank heaven. Bearing up wonderfully. He’s just gone.” Georgie was on the point of asking where, but guessed in time. “I see,” he said. “And you didn’t go. I’m very glad. So wise.” “I felt I couldn’t,” she said, “and he urged me not. It’s to-morrow. He sleeps in London to-night----” (Again Georgie longed to say “where?” for it was impossible not to wonder if he would sleep in the house of unknown locality near Harrod’s.) “And he’ll be back to-morrow evening,” said Lucia without pause. “I wonder if you would take pity on me and come and dine. Just something to eat, you know; the house is so upset. Don’t dress.” “Delighted,” said Georgie, though he had ordered oysters. But they could be scolloped for to-morrow.... “Love to come.” “Eight o’clock then? Nobody else of course. If you care to bring our Mozart duet.” “Rather,” said Georgie. “Good for you to be occupied, Lucia. We’ll have a good go at it.” “Dear Georgie,” said Lucia faintly. He heard her sigh, again, not quite so successfully, and replace the ear-piece with a click.