“Are you staying here—in Paris—much longer?”
“I shall be for a week—possibly a fortnight—I expect.”
“Then good-by as well as good-night; I shall go back to-morrow.”
“To Villa San Carlo?”
“No, I don’t know where I shall go. It depends.”
“To where you can test the value of my view, perhaps?” He had now risen, and I walked across to him, holding out my hand. He took it, with another gruff laugh.
“This sort of thing plays hell with a man; but there’s no need for us to quarrel, Julius?”
“Not at present, at all events. And it looks as if you had a big enough quarrel on your hands already.”
“Nina? Yes.” It was on that name, and not on the other, that at last we parted. And I suppose that he did “go back” the next day; for I saw him no more during the rest of my stay in Paris.