Mr.
Ricardo, however, was to learn something more of Celia the next morning; for while he was fixing his tie before the mirror Wethermill burst into his dressing-room.

Mr.Ricardo forgot his curiosity in the surge of his indignation.

Such an invasion was an unprecedented outrage upon the gentle tenor of his life.

The business of the morning toilette was sacred.

To interrupt it carried a subtle suggestion of anarchy.
Where was his valet?
Where was Charles, who should have guarded the door like the custodian of a chapel?
"I cannot speak to you for at least another half-hour," said Mr.
Ricardo, sternly.
But Harry Wethermill was out of breath and shaking with agitation.
"I can't wait," he cried, with a passionate appeal.