Part 119

"Hold on a minute, please!"

She held on. She had not shuddered at the end of the wire for more than a minute when the well-known, infinitely-dreaded voice said in her ear, so clearly that she jumped:

"Lady Hannah there? How d'you do?"

She gulped, and quavered:

"It--it depends on what you're going to say."

"I see." There was the vibration of a stifled laugh, and her heart jumped to meet it. "So you anticipated a hauling over the coals?"

Revived, she shrugged her little shoulders.

"Have I deserved one?"

The voice said, with unmistakable displeasure in it:

"Thoroughly. Why were not the last three paragraphs of the weekly 'Social Jottings' column submitted to me yesterday with the rest?"

She heard herself titter imbecilely. Then a voice, which she could hardly believe her own, said, with a pitiable effort to be gay and natural:

"Weren't they? Perhaps you overlooked them?"

"You know I did not overlook them."

This was the cold, incisive, cutting, rasping voice which Bingo was wont to describe as razors and files. Her ears burned like fire, and her bright, birdlike eyes were round and scared. She gasped:

"Oh ... do you really----"

"I want the truth, please, without quibbling." The voice was harsh and cold, and inexorably compelling. "Why were those paragraphs not shown to me?"

She winked away her tears.

"Because I was sure you'd blue-pencil them out of existence. And a genuine bit of news is such a roc's egg in these times of scarcity."

"Genuine!"

There was incredulity in the tone.

"Upon my honour as the wife of a British Dragoon."

He said crisply:

"Precipitate publication, even of authentic information, is likely to be resented by the persons concerned."

She remembered, with a sinking at the heart, that one person concerned had already objected.

"Both of them authorised the insertion."

"And the official consent to it was obtained by a trick."

She whispered, her heart in the heels of her Louis Quinze shoes:

"Please--please don't call it that!"