Mr. Sabin assumed the puzzled air of one endeavouring to pin down an elusive memory.
“Let me see,” he murmured doubtfully. “It was in connection with—”
“The Countess Radantz. If you remember, I told you that it was her desire just now to remain incognito. I, however, unfortunately forgot this during the course of our conversation.”
“Yes, I remember. You told me where she was staying. But the Countess and I are old acquaintances. I feel sure that she did not object to your having given me her address. I could not possibly leave London without calling upon her.”
Mr. Brott moved in his chair uneasily.
“It seems presumption on my part to make such a suggestion perhaps,” he said slowly, “but I really believe that the Countess is in earnest with reference to her desire for seclusion just at present. I believe that she is really very anxious that her presence in London, just now should not be generally known.”
“I am such a very old friend,” Mr. Sabin said. “I knew her when she was a child.”
Mr. Brott nodded.
“It is very strange,” he said, “that you should have come together again in such a country as America, and in a small town too.”
“Lenox,” Mr. Sabin said, “is a small place, but a great center. By the bye, is there not some question of an impending marriage on the part of the Countess?”