"All right, it isn't. I unsay it. But that reason won't exist as far as you are concerned. You will come and go exactly as you like always. No one will question you."
"You're very kind," said Juliet.
He bowed to her ceremoniously. "That's the first really nice thing you have said to me. I must make a note of it. Now would you like my wife to call upon you? If so, I'll send her round to-morrow at twelve."
"If she would care to come," said Juliet.
"Of course she would. She shall come then—and you'll talk things over, and come to an understanding. That's settled, is it? Good-bye!"
He turned to go, pausing at the gate to throw her another smiling farewell. She had not thought that gloomy, black browed countenance could look so genial. There was something curiously elusive, almost haunting, about his smile.
"Columbus!" said Juliet. "I'm not sure that he's a very nice man, but there's something about him—something I can't quite place—that makes me wonder if I've met him somewhere before. Would you like to go and live at the Court, Columbus?"
Columbus leaned against her knee in sentimental silence. He evidently did not care where he went so long as he was with the object of his whole-souled devotion.
She stooped and kissed him between the eyes. "Dear doggie!" she murmured.
"I wonder—are we happier—here?"