The telephone rang from the hall.
“I’ll see who it is,” said Mrs. Brandon. “It may be Delia.”
“Good-night, Francis,” said Mrs. Arbuthnot. “Thank you for the lovely dancing. And may I have my handkerchief back?”
So taken aback was Francis that he produced it from a pocket at once.
“I didn’t think you saw me,” he said. “Lord! what a plague this Foul New World fashion of not dressing for dinner is. Had I but put on my dinner-jacket, a bit tight in the chest now but let that pass, I would have removed the handkerchief reverently and put it in the little box where I keep my best studs.”
“I said I was a witch,” said Mrs. Arbuthnot, holding out her hand.
“It’s Colin Keith,” said Mrs. Brandon coming back. “For you, Peggy.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Arbuthnot, half-laughing as she moved towards t
