"Last night?" There was a questioning look in her beautiful eyes; the finely posed head with its crown of bright hair bent toward him inquiringly.
An expression of chagrin crept into his face.
"You were not out last night, then?" said he.
"What makes you think so?" smilingly. "It was dreadfully dull here, too. But then," with a shrug, "anything is better than a constant reminder of that Christie Place affair."
He nodded understandingly.
"I suppose it is very distressing." He frowned gloomily at the tips of his shoes and she could see that he bit his lip with vexation. After a moment or two, he said: "It's very strange; but I was quite sure I saw you last night."
"Yes?" Her tone was one of careless interest.
"However," he went on, "I had but a glimpse of the lady; and could easily have been mistaken." He wore a baffled look, but smiled as he got up. "And," said he, "my visit of this morning was based upon the sight I fancied I had of you last night."
She laughed amusedly.
"It was something interesting," she said. "Please tell me about—but, no, no," hastily. "If it has anything to do with the Hume case, I'd rather not hear it."