"Is my danger political or otherwise?" he whispered.
"Otherwise, I should think," was the prompt retort. "You are too British to change our politics, but thank goodness infidelity is one of the cosmopolitan virtues. You were never the man to marry a plaster-cast type of wife, Andrew, for all her millions. I could have done better for you than that. What's this they are telling me about Tony Palliser?"
Tallente stiffened a little.
"A good many people seem to be talking about Tony Palliser," he observed.
"You shouldn't have let your wife make such an idiot of herself with him—lunching and dining and theatring all the time. And now they say he has disappeared. Poor little man! What have you done to him, Andrew?"
Tallente sighed.
"I can see that I shall have to take you into my confidence," he murmured.
"You needn't tell me a single word, because I shouldn't believe you if you did. Are you staying here with your wife?"
"No," Tallente answered. "I am back at my old rooms in Charges Street."
The old lady patted him on the arm and dismissed him.