Hillard saw that this subject would admit of no further questions. The man with the scar had committed some inexcusable offense, and Mrs. Sandford had crossed him off the list. He knew that the Italian officer is, more or less, a lady's man; and the supreme confidence he has in the power of brass buttons and gold lace makes him at times insufferable.
It was after ten when Hillard and his friend took their leave. They would not see their host and hostess again till they reached New York. Upon coming out on the Corso, Hillard whistled merrily.
"Pleasant evening," was Merrihew's comment.
Hillard continued to whistle.
"Good dinner, too."
The whistle went on serenely, in spite of Merrihew's obvious attempts to choke it off.
"You seemed to have a good deal to say to Mrs. Sandford. She knows the lady who was in the house?"
Still the whistle.
"Say, wake up!" cried Merrihew impatiently.
"We shall leave in the morning for Venice," said Hillard, taking up the tune again.