“And have him following at my heels?” Courtlandt gazed at his lean brown hands. “When these begin to shake, I’ll do so. Well, I shall see you both at dinner, whatever happens.”
“That’s Courtlandt,” said Abbott, when his friend was gone. “You think he’s in Singapore, the door opens and in he walks; never any letter or announcement. He arrives, that’s all.”
“Strikes me,” returned the other, polishing his glass, holding it up to the light, and then screwing it into his eye; “strikes me, he wasn’t overanxious to have that dish of tea. Afraid of women?”
“Afraid of women! Why, man, he backed two musical shows in the States a few years ago.”
“Musical comedies?” The glass dropped from the colonel’s eye. “That’s going tigers one better. Forty women, all waiting to be stars, and solemn Courtlandt wandering among them as the god of amity! Afraid of them! Of course he is. Who wouldn’t be, after such an experience?” The colonel laughed. “Never had any serious affair?”
“Never heard of one. There was some tommy-rot about a Mahommedan princess in the newspapers; but I knew there was no truth in that. Queer fellow! He wouldn’t take the trouble to deny it.”
“Never showed any signs of being a woman-hater?”
“No, not the least in the world. But to shy at meeting Nora Harrigan....”
“There you have it; the privilege of the gods. Perhaps he really has business in Menaggio. What’ll we do with the other beggar?”
“Knock his head off, if he bothers her.”