"Of course not," he answered gravely.
"Then let me come to your club about a quarter to one," I said. "You can see me in the strangers' room."
Adèle rose and gave me her hand.
"I too, must go," she said. "I may write to you here—if I do I shall address the envelope to Sir Gilbert. Good-bye!"
I kissed her fingers, and she drew away from me a little shyly. My cousin saw her to the door, and in less than half an hour I was in my shiny dress coat, on duty for luncheon at the Café Suisse.
There were the usual crowd of people there, but no one whom I recognized particularly, until the stout lady who had talked to me the night before came in. I showed her to a table, and she talked to me graciously in German. She had discarded her black sailor hat, and had the appearance of being dressed in her best clothes.
"You see to-day I am alone," she remarked, drawing off her gloves and revealing two large but well-shaped hands, the fingers of which were laden with rings.
"You must take good care of me—so! And I am hungry—very hungry!"
It was a table d'hôte luncheon for eighteen-pence, and she ate everything that was set before her, and frequently demanded second helpings. All the time she talked to me, sometimes in German, sometimes in broken English. She seemed quite uneasy when I was not all the time by her side.
"My good man," she told me, "has gone away for two—three days. I am lonely, so I eat more! Why do you smile, Herr Schmidt?"