Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. ” She pointed with shaking fingers to a great bunch of dark red carnations, thrust carelessly into a deep china bowl, to which the card was still attached. ’ Roding left the house instantly, not even pausing to nod. She reflected before answering. ” Michelle squinted conspiratorially.
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