"Good!" I commented cheerfully. "That's tremendously in her favor."
Paul smoked on. "I really didn't bring you here to talk generalities, Prentice," he said after a while. "Can you meet some people for me on the 3.45 Continental train at Charing Cross?"
I told him my afternoon was at his disposal.
"You're a sure good friend," he said simply, and I took the little phrase in full payment. Paul was seldom American in idiom but when he was touched or excited. "There's a mother and daughter—Mrs. and Miss Barbour. Let's see now; how will you spot them?"
"Did the daughter by any chance come with you to the À-peu-près, three weeks ago?"
"That's so, Prentice; I had forgotten."
"I think I shall know her again," I said, smiling a little behind my cigarette. Poor, unworldly Paul! "What am I to tell them?"
"I'm just figuring it out."
"What is really the matter, old man?"
"Mental vertigo, from thinking too long in a circle, really."