Eleven
From information received over the telephone Anthony knew that Lucilla
Drake was going out at five o’clock to drink a cup of tea with a dear old
friend. Allowing for possible contingencies¹ (returning for a purse, determ-
ination after all to take an umbrella just in case, and last-minute chats on
the doorstep) Anthony timed his own arrival at Elvaston Square at pre-
cisely twenty-five minutes past five. It was Iris² he wanted to see, not her
aunt. And by all accounts once shown into Lucilla’s presence, he would
have had very little chance of uninterrupted conversation with his lady.
He was told by the parlourmaid (a girl lacking the impudent³ polish of
Betty Archdale) that Miss Iris had just come in and was in the study.
Anthony said with a smile, “Don’t bother. I’ll find my way,” and went
past her and along to the study door.
Iris spun⁴ round at his entrance with a nervous start.
“Oh, it’s you.”
He came over to her swiftly.
“What’s the matter, darling?”
“Nothing.” She paused, then said quickly, “Nothing. Only I was nearly
run over. Oh, my own fault, I expect I was thinking so hard and mooning
across the road without looking, and the car came tearing round a corner
and just missed me.”
He gave her a gentle little shake.
“You mustn’t do that sort of thing, Iris. I’m worried about you—oh! not
about your miraculous⁵ escape from under the wheels of a car, but about
the reason that lets you moon about in the midst of traffic. What is it,
darling? There’s something special, isn’t there?”
She nodded. Her eyes, raised mournfully to his, were large and dark
with fear. He recognized their message even before she said very low and
quick:
“I’m afraid.”
Anthony recovered his calm smiling poise⁷. He sat down beside Iris on a
wide settee.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s have it.”

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