"The wrong one for a lady to go and see. Suppose I shouldn't find—the genius?"
"Oh, I'll look after the other," I replied. Then, as I had happened to glance about me, I added: "Take care—here comes Lord Mellifont."
"I wish you'd look after him," my interlocutress murmured.
"What's the matter with him?"
"That's just what I was going to tell you."
"Tell me now; he's not coming."
Blanche Adney looked a moment. Lord Mellifont, who appeared to have emerged from the hotel to smoke a meditative cigar, had paused, at a distance from us, and stood admiring the wonders of the prospect, discernible even in the dusk. We strolled slowly in another direction, and she presently said: "My idea is almost as droll as yours."
"I don't call mine droll: it's beautiful."
"There's nothing so beautiful as the droll," Mrs. Adney declared.
"You take a professional view. But I'm all ears." My curiosity was indeed alive again.