'That's good. Then I'll see you in the morning at nine.'
She went up to her bedroom on the second floor, and she was so exhausted from her day that she fell asleep soon after she lay down.
Next morning, Mrs Foster was up early, and by eight-thirty she was downstairs and ready to leave.
Shortly after nine, her husband appeared. 'Did you make any coffee?' he asked.
'No, dear. I thought you'd get a nice breakfast at the club. The car is here. It's been waiting. I'm all ready to go.'
They were standing in the hall - they always seemed to be meeting in the hall nowadays - she with her hat and coat and purse, he in a curiously cut Edwardian jacket with high lapels.
'Your luggage?'
'It's at the airport.'
'Ah yes,' he said. 'Of course. And if you're going to take me to the club first, I suppose we'd better get going fairly soon, hadn't we?'
'Yes!' she cried. 'Oh, yes - please!'
'I'm just going to get a few cigars. I'll be right with you. You get in the car.'
She turned and went out to where the chauffeur was standing, and he opened the car door for her as she approached.
'What time is it?' she asked him.
'About nine-fifteen.'
Mr Foster came out five minutes later, and watching him as he walked slowly down the steps, she noticed that his legs were like goat's legs in those narrow stovepipe trousers that he wore. As on the day before, he paused halfway down to sniff the air and to examine the sky. The weather was still not quite clear, but there was a wisp of sun coming through the mist.
'Perhaps you'll be lucky this time,' he said as he settled himself beside her in the car.
'Hurry, please,' she said to the chauffeur. 'Don't bother about the rug. I'll arrange the rug. Please get going. I'm late.'
The man went back to his seat behind the wheel and started the engine.
'Just a moment!' Mr Foster said suddenly. 'Hold it a moment, chauffeur, will you?'
'What is it, dear?' She saw him searching the pockets of his overcoat.
'I had a little present I wanted you to take to Ellen,' he said. 'Now, where on earth is it? I'm sure I had it in my hand as I came down.'
'I never saw you carrying anything. What sort of present?'
'A little box wrapped up in white paper. I forgot to give it to you yesterday. I don't want to forget it today.'
'A little box!' Mrs Foster cried. 'I never saw any little box!' She began hunting frantically in the back of the car.
Her husband continued searching through the pockets of his coat. Then he unbuttoned the coat and felt around in his jacket. 'Confound it,' he said, 'I must've left it in my bedroom. I won't be a moment.'
'Oh, please!' she cried. 'We haven't got time! Please leave it! You can mail it. It's only one of those silly combs anyway. You're always giving her combs.'
'And what's wrong with combs, may I ask?' he said, furious that she should have forgotten herself for once.
'Nothing, dear, I'm sure. But...'
'Stay here!' he commanded. 'I'm going to get it.'
'Be quick, dear! Oh, please be quick!'