To her, it seemed as though Adrienne were for ever 'phoning Max to come and see her, and invariably he set everything else aside--even Diana herself, if needs be--and obeyed her behest.
"I can't see why Adrienne wants to consult you so often," Diana protested one day.

"She is perpetually ringing you up to go round to Somervell Street--or if it's not that, then she is writing to you." Max laughed her protest aside.
"Well, there's a lot to consult about, you see," he said vaguely.
"So it seems.

I shall be glad when it is all finished and I have you to myself again.

When will the play be on ?" "About the middle of October," he replied, fidgeting restlessly with the papers that strewed his desk.

They were talking in his own particular den, and Diana's eyes ruefully followed the restless gesture.
"I suppose," she said slowly, "you want me to go ?" "Well"-- apologetically--"I have a lot to attend to this morning.