‘Oh, have it your own way,’ he said, but with a trace of irritation in his voice. ‘But it’s all wrong against this English background. This other stuff, it’s good enough of its kind, genuine solid, no fake about it—but mediocre. Good plain late Hepplewhite.’

She nodded.

‘Good, solid, genuine English,’ she murmured softly.

Mr Satterthwaite stared at her. He caught a meaning behind these words. The English room—the flaming beauty of the Chinese screen … No, it was gone again.

‘I met Miss Stanwell in the lane,’ he said conversationally. ‘She tells me she is going to be Pierrette in this show tonight.’

‘Yes,’ said Denman. ‘And she’s awfully good, too.’

‘She has clumsy feet,’ said Anna.

‘Nonsense,’ said her husband. ‘All women are alike, Satterthwaite. Can’t bear to hear another woman praised. Molly is a very good-looking girl, and so of course every woman has to have their knife into her.’

‘I spoke of dancing,’ said Anna Denman. She sounded faintly surprised. ‘She is very pretty, yes, but her feet move clumsily. You cannot tell me anything else because I know about dancing.’

Mr Satterthwaite intervened tactfully.

‘You have two professional dancers coming down, I understand?’

‘Yes. For the ballet proper. Prince Oranoff is bringing them down in his car.’

‘Sergius Oranoff?’

The question came from Anna Denman. Her husband turned and looked at her.

‘You know him?’

‘I used to know him—in Russia.’

Mr Satterthwaite thought that John Denman looked disturbed.

‘Will he know you?’

‘Yes. He will know me.’

She laughed—a low, almost triumphant laugh. There was nothing of the Dutch Doll about her face now. She nodded reassuringly at her husband.

‘Sergius. So he is bringing down the two dancers. He was always interested in dancing.’

‘I remember.’

John Denman spoke abruptly, then turned and left the room. Mr Quin followed him. Anna Denman crossed to the telephone and asked for a number. She arrested Mr Satterthwaite with a gesture as he was about to follow the example of the other two men.

‘Can I speak to Lady Roscheimer. Oh! it is you. This is Anna Denman speaking. Has Prince Oranoff arrived yet? What? What? Oh, my dear! But how ghastly.’

She listened for a few moments longer, then replaced the receiver. She turned to Mr Satterthwaite.

‘There has been an accident. There would be with Sergius Ivanovitch driving. Oh, he has not altered in all these years. The girl was not badly hurt, but bruised and shaken, too much to dance tonight. The man’s arm is broken. Sergius Ivanovitch himself is unhurt. The devil looks after his own, perhaps.’

‘And what about tonight’s performance?’

‘Exactly, my friend. Something must be done about it.’

She sat thinking. Presently she looked at him.

‘I am a bad hostess, Mr Satterthwaite. I do not entertain you.’