"Not I," Kendricks assured him. "We are both being drawn into a queer little cycle of events, events which perhaps we may influence. When we get back to your rooms, I will tell you about it. Until then, not a word."
They drove down the hill, talking of Lady Anne.
"Somehow," Kendricks remarked, "she doesn't fit in, in the least, with your description of her. I imagined a cold, rather stupid young woman, of very moderate intelligence, and certainly no sense of humor. Do you know that your Lady Anne is really a very charming person?"
"She puzzles me a little," Julien confessed. "Something has changed her."
Kendricks nodded.
"Whatever has done it has done a good thing. She gave you your congé quite calmly, didn't she?"
"Absolutely," Julien admitted. "She brushed me away as though I had been a misbehaving fly."
"After all," Kendricks said, "you were of the same kidney—a prig of the first water, you know, Julien. I am never tired of telling you so, am I? Never mind, it's good for you. Have you seen Herr Freudenberg this week?"
Julien shook his head.
"Not since we were all at the Rat Mort together nearly a month ago. Did
I tell you that he made me an offer then?"