“But surely you will not stand idle and watch a man throw away his life,” said Wanda, looking at him in surprise.
He raised his eyes to hers for a moment, and they were startlingly serious. They were dark eyes, beneath gray lashes. The whole man was neat and gray and—shallow, as some thought.
“My dear Wanda,” he said, “for forty years and more I have watched men—and women—do worse than throw their lives away. And it has quite ceased to affect my appetite.”
Wanda rose from her chair, and Deulin's face changed again. He shot a sidelong glance at her and bit his lip. His eyes were keen enough now.
“Listen!” he said, as he followed her to the door. “I will give him a little hint—the merest ghost of a hint—will that do?”
“Thank you,” said Wanda, going more slowly towards the door.
“Though I do not know why we should, any of us, trouble about this Englishman.”
Wanda quickened her pace a little, and made no answer.
“There are reasons why I should not accompany you,” said Deulin, opening the door. “Try the right-hand staircase, and the other way round.”
He closed the door behind her, and stood looking at the chair which Wanda had just vacated.