Norgate's air of complete candour was very well assumed.
"I shall never be a success as a diplomatist," he confessed. "When I dislike a place or a person, every one knows it. I hated Berlin. I hate the thought of going back again."
The woman by his side smiled enigmatically.
"Perhaps," she murmured, "you may get an exchange."
"Perhaps," Norgate assented. "Meanwhile, even a month away from London seems to have brought a fresh set of people here. Who is the tall, thin young man with the sunburnt face? He seems familiar, somehow, but I can't place him."
"He is a sailor," she told him. "Captain Baring his name is."
"Friend of yours?"
She looked at him sidewise.
"Why do you ask?"
"Jealousy," Norgate sighed, "makes one observant. You were lunching with him in the Carlton Grill. You came in with him to the club this afternoon."