Conversation died. For the first time in the long run of their friendship there was a coolness between them. However, their native sense of humor was too strong for this coolness to last. Merrihew was first to break the silence.
"Jack, I am an ass!" penitently.
"I admit it," said Hillard, smiling.
"Let's hunt up the restaurant; I am hungry and thirsty."
And by the time they had found the Ristorante Tornaghi—miserable and uninviting—they were laughing.
"Only, I wish I knew where they were going," was Hillard's regret.
"They?" said Merrihew.
"Yes. The woman with Kitty is the woman I'm going to find if I stay in Europe ten years. And when I find her, I'm going to marry her."
"Sounds good," said Merrihew, pouring himself a third glass of very indifferent Beaune.
"And they may be going anywhere but to Monte Carlo—Paris, Cherbourg, Calais. In my opinion, Monte Carlo is the last place two such women are likely to go to alone."