“Do not fear,” I replied. “They all do that. It is we who need the caution! Yes, Halfred, my sympathy is with that poor foreigner.”
I fear my servant put down this sentiment to mere un-British eccentricity, but I felt I had done my duty by him.
As for the inquisitive foreigner, I smiled at the idea that he had really addressed the fair Aramatilda for the purpose of hearing news of me. I may mention that I had heard nothing more of Hankey; nothing from the league; nothing had followed the arrival of the packing-case; the French government seemed to have ignored my escapade; there were many foreigners in London unconnected with my concerns; so why should I suppose that this chance acquaintance of Aramatilda's had anything to do with me? “If I am wanted, I shall be sent for,” I said to myself. “Till then, revelry and distraction!”
First, I sought out Teddy Lumme. We met for the first time since I left Seneschal Court, but at the first greeting it was evident that all resentment had passed from his mind as completely as it had from mine.
“Where the deuce have you been hiding?” he asked me, with his old geniality. “We wanted you the other night; great evening we had; Archie and me and Bobby and Tyler; box at the Empire, supper at the European, danced till six in the morning at Covent Garden; breakfast at Muggins; and the devil of a day after that. I'd have sent you a wire but I thought you'd left town. No one has seen you. Been getting up another conspiracy, what? Chap at the French embassy told me the other day their government expected your people to have a kick-up soon. By Jove, though, he told me not to tell any one! But you won't say anything about it, I dare say.”
“I can assure you it is news to me,” I replied, “but in any case I certainly should not discuss the matter indiscreetly.”
“And now the question is,” said Teddy, “where shall we dine and what shall we do afterwards?”
Ah, it may be elevating and absorbing to experiment in Plato and guide the operations of philanthropy, but when the head is not yet bald and the blood still flows fast, commend me to an evening spent with cheerful friends in search of some less austere ideal! This may not be the sentiment of an Aurelius—but then that is not my name.
We dined amid the glitter of lights and mirrors and fair faces and bright colors; a band thundering a waltz accompaniment to the soup, a mazurka to the fish; a babel of noise all round us—laughing voices, clattering silver, popping corks, stirring music; and ourselves getting rapidly into tune with all of this.
“By-the-way,” I said, in a nonchalant tone, “have you seen Aliss Trevor-Hudson again?”