"I cannot leave Lloyd now until he has recovered," Andrew answered. "Tell me, Phyllis, has Duncombe found you out? Has he been here?"
"Yes," she answered. "I sent him away—as I am sending you."
"Has he ever told you," Andrew asked, "why he was willing in the first instance to come to Paris in search of you?"
"No," she answered. "Wasn't it because he was your friend?"
He shook his head.
"It is his affair, not mine," he said with a sigh. "Ask him some day."
"You won't tell me, Andrew?"
"No! I will go now! You know where to send for me if you should need help. I can find my way down, thank you. I have a guide from the hotel outside."
The Marquise swept into the room as he passed out, an impression of ermine and laces and perfume.
"Another of your English lovers, ma belle?" she asked.