“You know the way down, Mr. Tavernake? I shall see you again soon, sha'n't I? Good-night!”
She scarcely glanced at him as she sent him away, yet Tavernake walked on air.
CHAPTER XIV. A WARNING FROM Mr. PRITCHARD
Tavernake hesitated for a moment under the portico of the Milan Court, looking out at the rain which had suddenly commenced to descend. He scarcely noticed that he had a companion until the man who was standing by his side addressed him.
“Say, your name is Tavernake, isn't it?”
Tavernake, who had been on the point of striding away, turned sharply around. The man who had spoken to him was wearing morning clothes of dark gray tweed and a soft Homburg hat. His complexion was a little sallow and he was clean-shaven except for a slight black moustache. He was smoking a black cigar and his accent was transatlantic. Something about his appearance struck Tavernake as being vaguely familiar, but he could not at first recall where he had seen him before.
“That is my name, certainly,” Tavernake admitted.
“I am going to ask you a somewhat impertinent question,” his neighbor remarked.
“I suppose you can ask it,” Tavernake rejoined. “I am not obliged to answer, am I?”