Cecil made almost no comment.
The Count, with the sympathetic excitability of his race, walked up and down the winter-garden, asseverating earnestly that such clumsiness amounted to a crime; then he grew calm and confessed that he shared the optimism of the police as to the recovery of the bracelet; lastly he complimented Kitty on her equable demeanour under this affliction.
“Do you know, Count,” said Cecil Thorold, later, after they had all four ascended to the drawing-room overlooking the Grande Place, “I was quite surprised when I saw at tea that you had to be introduced to Madame Lawrence.”
“Why so, my dear Mr. Thorold?” the Count inquired suavely.
“I thought I had seen you together in Ostend a few days ago.”
The Count shook his wonderful head.
“Perhaps you have a brother——?” Cecil paused.
“No,” said the Count. “But it is a favourite theory of mine that everyone has his double somewhere in the world.” Previously the Count had been discussing Planchette—he was a great authority on the supernatural, the sub-conscious, and the subliminal. He now deviated gracefully to the discussion of the theory of doubles.
“I suppose you aren’t going out for a walk, dear, before dinner?” said Eve to Kitty.
“No, dear,” said Kitty, positively.