Passing down the corridor, he found Celia’s door and knocked. This time she did not keep him waiting. “Well?” she said, opening the door a few inches. “Did he give you what you wanted?” She stepped back to admit him into the room, but he merely bowed, preferring to remain in the hall. “Yes,” he said, adding after a slight pause, “thanks to you.” “I’m always happy to help,” she said, not moving from the doorway. “And he burned your letters, too.” “Naturally,” she replied. “I asked him to. I told him I was afraid of what might happen if they fell into the wrong hands.” “My hands, I suppose.” “No, my lord. His,” she replied. “I hope the prince will be pleased.” “I should think so.” “I am hoping he will come to my play on Thursday next,” she said. “I don’t suppose you would be good enough to mention it.” “Why don’t I come in,” he murmured. “We’ll discuss it. I would very much like that drink, if the offer still stands.”
