“Certainly, as he has promised to return if called upon.”
And Mr. Collingham promptly took advantage of the permission.
“But you, General, what are your plans?” went on the attaché.
“I shall go to the club first, get a room, dress, and all that. Then call at the Hôtel Madagascar. There is a lady there,—one of our party, in fact,—and I should like to ask after her. She may be glad of my services.”
“English? Is there anything we can do for her?”
“Yes, she is an Englishwoman, but the widow of an Italian—the Contessa di Castagneto.”
“Oh, but I know her!” said Papillon. “I remember her in Rome two or three years ago. A deuced pretty woman, very much admired, but she was in deep mourning then, and went out very little. I wished she had gone out more. There were lots of men ready to fall at her feet.”
“You were in Rome, then, some time back? Did you ever come across a man there, Quadling, the banker?”
“Of course I did. Constantly. He was a good deal about—a rather free-living, self-indulgent sort of chap. And now you mention his name, I recollect they said he was much smitten by this particular lady, the Contessa di Castagneto.”
“And did she encourage him?” “Lord! how can I tell? Who shall say how a woman’s fancy falls? It might have suited her too. They said she was not in very good circumstances, and he was thought to be a rich man. Of course we know better than that now.”