“Yes—but about Walter. Who was Walter? What did she do to him?”
“She killed him,” said Lovelace; “he shot himself. He was my brother.”
“Oh, do forgive me for asking you. I had no idea—I say, Lovelace, I’m leaving to-morrow. I can’t stand it any longer.”
“You are very wise. I am going also.”
He moved away—this man who was a stranger to me, but whom I seemed to know so well.
I could eat very little, so I left the dining-room for the lounge, where I ordered a large brandy-and-soda. I stayed there smoking and drinking for some time, but she did not come, and, at length, I rose and sought Lovelace. He was wandering about aimlessly in the hall.
“I’m going to the Acropolis,” I said; “would you be so kind as to lend me your ticket—that is, if you are not going to use it yourself.”
He gave me a strange, inquiring look.
“Certainly. I have it with me—here it is.”
I went alone, half hoping, wholly fearing, that Miss Langdon might be there.