Seton leant his elbow on the window-sill and gazed meditatively into the night. "If it comes to that," he said slowly, "no gossip is exactly edifying. And to be the victim of it is to be in the most undesirable position under the sun."
It struck Merefleet that he uttered the words with some force, almost with the deliberate intention of conveying a warning; and, being the last man in the world to attempt to fathom the wholly irrelevant affairs of his neighbour, he dropped into silence and began to smoke.
Seton sat motionless for some time. The murmur of a conversation that was being sleepily sustained by two men in the room behind them created no disturbing influence. Presently Seton spoke casually, but with that in his tone which made Merefleet vaguely conscious of an element of suspicion.
"You didn't expect to see me just now, did you?" he asked.
"No," said Merefleet. "I should have taken the trouble to call your name to mind before I spoke if I had."
Seton nodded. "I saw you at table d'hôte" he remarked. "I was with my cousin at the other end of the room. You were gone when we got up."
"Your cousin?" said Merefleet deliberately. "Is that the American lady who is staying here?"
"Yes. Miss Ward. She is from New York, too. You may have seen her there."
"No," said Merefleet. "I know very little of New York society, or any society for the matter of that."
Seton turned and looked at him with a smile. "Odd," he said. "For there can be scarcely a man, woman, or child, here or in America, who does not know you by name."