Mr. May returned, and said that Ciccio had ridden off down the Knarborough Road. It was raining slightly.
“Ah!” said Madame. “And now how to find him, in that great town. I am afraid he will leave us without pity.”
“Surely he will want to speak to Geoffrey before he goes,” said Louis. “They were always good friends.”
They all looked at Geoffrey. He shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Always good friends,” he said. “Yes. He will perhaps wait for me at his cousin’s in Battersea. In Knarborough, I don’t know.”
“How much money had he?” asked Mr. May.
Madame spread her hands and lifted her shoulders.
“Who knows?” she said.
“These Italians,” said Louis, turning to Mr. May. “They have always money. In another country, they will not spend one sou if they can help. They are like this—” And he made the Neapolitan gesture drawing in the air with his fingers.
“But would he abandon you all without a word?” cried Mr. May.