"Don’t be anxious, Lilla. I never like you when you grow anxious, because anxiety always brings us bad luck. And we don’t want that to-night—do we? Eat your dinner and think of nothing—only of the revue at the Hippodrome. Leave Ena and myself to it. Don’t bother—or you may arouse suspicion." Later, when they alighted in Upper Brook Street just before eight o’clock, the uniformed hall-porter touched his cap as they entered and took them up in the lift. "Oh! my dear Ena," cried Lilla, as the two women met in the drawing-room. "Do forgive me—do! Bernard came in late from the club. It’s all his fault! It really is not mine! I waited for him half an hour." "Yes, Mrs. Pollen," said Boyne penitently, "I take all responsibility upon myself. I had to see a man on business at the club, and the brute was half an hour late. So I had to rush home and dress—and here we are. Do forgive me—won’t you?" Ena Pollen laughed, declaring that she had overlooked the offence, whereupon Mrs. Morrison shook Lilla’s hand warmly, and they sank into chairs until two minutes later dinner was announced by the smart maid. Dinner! Bernard Boyne and Ena Pollen had given dinners before, artistic and perfect meals which would have delighted any gourmet, even though he had tasted the pre-war gastronomical delights of the expensive restaurants of Moscow, Petrograd or Bucharest. When they sat down, Ena directed Mrs. Morrison to her seat with her back to the sideboard, saying: "You won’t have any draught there, my dear. This room is so full of draughts. I don’t know where they come from!" "I hope you are staying in town a little while, and that we shall see something of you," said Lilla to Mrs. Morrison as they tackled their asparagus soup. "You must not go back to Scotland yet, you know." "Well," replied the other, a handsome figure in her discreetly décolleté gown, "Ena has been urging me to remain in London for a few days, but I couldn’t get a room anywhere. All the hotels are full up, but I at last got in at a place in Lancaster Gate—quite comfortable, though it’s a bit expensive." "All hotels are terribly dear now, though, after all, hotels are cheaper than one’s household expenses," Lilla replied. "Well, I’ve taken my room for a week. I may be in London longer, but I have to visit my sister-in-law at Aviemore on the twentieth of next month, and then I go over to Arran to my niece." "Stay with us as long as you can, Mrs. Morrison," Boyne urged warmly. "You must dine with us at Pont Street one night next week." "Thanks! I shall be delighted. I’ve got appointments with the dressmaker." "And the dentist, of course," laughed Boyne. "All ladies have appointments with their dentists. It is the best excuse a wife can have for the deception of a too inquisitive husband." "Not in my case, Mr. Davidson," declared the widow of Carsphairn, with a merry smile. "I have no one to whom I need make excuses. But, as it happens, I am going to a dentist!"