She left her brokers and sat for a few moments in the rotunda of the hotel, considering.

She could stand it no longer.

Whatever happened, she would run around to Charmant's.

Some excuse would occur when she got there.
As Constance alighted from the private elevator, a delicate scent as of attar of roses smote lightly on her, and there was, if anything, a greater air of exotic warmth about the place.

Everything, from the electric bulbs buried deep in the clusters of amber artificial flowers to the bright green leaves on the dainty trellises, the little square-paned windows and white furniture, bespoke luxury.