They hardly spoke during the meal, for the servants came and went often, and they could not speak any language together that would not be understood.
After a time they were left alone, and they prepared to part for the night. Diana laid her hand affectionately on her brother's forehead, as though to feel whether it were hot. He looked so ill that it hurt her to see him.
"You are worn out, dear boy," said she. "Go to bed and sleep."
"I will try," he said, rather submissively than otherwise. "But we will go to-morrow, of course," he added quickly, turning to her with a half-startled look.
"Of course," said she, reassuring him.
"Because," he said, "I told the detectives to telegraph to me there, and I gave them my address at the hotel."
"Detectives?" repeated Diana, starting a little and looking surprised. "What do you want them for?"
"Diavolo!" ejaculated Marcantonio savagely, "to find him, to be sure."
"Batiscombe is not the man to run away, or to need much finding," said Diana, gravely, with an air of conviction. She did not like the idea.
"When men mean to be found they leave an address," said her brother, between his teeth.