Indeed, but for the presence of his widow in their midst, and the occasional mention of his name, Hunston would, in all probability, have forgotten that he had ever existed.
As it was, he made it his especial task to hang about the parts of the town where the Harkaways were most likely to be met. And never did he appear twice in the same dress.
One evening, strolling into a dancing garden, he chanced to come upon a smart young lady, whose appearance attracted his attention at once.
"I know her well," he said to himself, "though where I have seen her is a puzzle to me for a moment."
The merry antics of one of the dancers caused her to laugh, and then he recognised the sound of her voice immediately.
"Marietta!"
Surely he should not so soon have forgotten her.
Was it not upon the occasion of her memorable exploits at the gardens of the Contessa Maraviglia that he had last seen her—that night when poor Magog Brand met his fate?
As soon as he recognised her, he made up his mind to escort her.
So first (to assure himself of the excellence of his disguise) catching a cursory glance of his shadow in a mirror, he crossed the garden, and stepping up to her side, he addressed her.