He
had expected to get rid of Marrier before ten.
Among the exciting mail which Marrier had collected for him from the
Grand Babylon and elsewhere, was the following letter:
"BUCKINGHAM PALACE HOTEL.
"DEAR FRIEND,--We are all so proud of you. I should like some time to
finish our interrupted conversation. Will you come and have lunch with
me one day here at 1.30? You needn't write. I know how busy you are.
Just telephone you are coming. But don't telephone between 12 and 1,
because at that time I _always_ take my constitutional in St. James's
Park.--Yours sincerely, E.A."
"Well," he thought, "that's a bit thick, that is! She's stuck me up
with a dramatist I don't believe in, and a play I don't believe in,
and an actress I don't believe in--and now she--"
Nevertheless, to a certain extent he was bluffing himself. For, as he
pretended to put Elsie April back into her place, he had disturbing
and delightful visions of her. A clever creature! Uncannily clever!
Wealthy! Under thirty! Broad-minded! No provincial prejudices!... Her
voice, that always affected his spine! Her delicious flattery!... She
was no mean actress either! And the multifariousness of her seductive
charm! In fact, she was a regular woman of the world, such as you
would read about--if you did read!... He was sitting with her again
in the obscurity of the discussion-room at the Azure Society's
establishment.
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