God's good angel, indeed! Could anything have been more calculated to
put a man into a frenzy? I seized my hat and stick and went in search
of the nearest public telephone office. In less than ten minutes I had
arranged an immediate interview with Eleanor Faversham at my sister
Agatha's, and in less than half an hour I was pacing up and down
Agatha's sitting-room waiting for her. God's good angel! The sound
of the words made me choke with wrath. There are times when angelic
interference in human destinies is entirely unwarrantable. I stamped and
I fumed, and I composed a speech in which I told Eleanor exactly what I
thought of angels.
As I had to wait a considerable time, however, before Eleanor appeared,
the raging violence of my wrath abated, and when she did enter the room
smiling and fresh, with the spring in her clear eyes and a flush on her
cheek, I just said: "How d'ye do, Eleanor?" in the most commonplace way,
and offered her a chair.
"I've come, you see. You were rather peremptory, so I thought it must be
a matter of great importance.
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