"At Brest!" said Anthony. "What was her name?"
"Lafargue. A very beautiful creature, and, it seemed, in the short time I talked with her, with a mind as wonderful as her voice. But in spite of all the sparkle in her manner I could see she felt but little of it. At times her eyes actually seemed to have a look of fear in them. So many of the émigrés have that look. Their experiences must have been dreadful."
"No doubt."
"She said she was a stranger," said Mrs. King, "and had been here less than a week. And yet," amusedly, "at five o'clock young Tarrant called for her. A handsome girl can't be a stranger for long anywhere."
Anthony felt a flush of resentment rise to his face; he fumbled with the fringe upon the arm of the chair in which he sat and glowered at the floor.
"It had been arranged that he should call for her," added Mrs. King. "She, being so newly arrived, was not sure that she'd find her way back to her lodging-place."
"I have met with this Tarrant," said Anthony. "But our dealings were brief. What manner of man is he?"
"He is very well known," said Mrs. King. "And inclined, I think, to play the part of a ruffling blade, such as is common in London. He was once in the navy, a lieutenant, and also in the merchant service."
Just then Whitaker came up; with him was a lady who laughed and talked incessantly.
"We were just speaking of Mr. Tarrant," said Mrs. King. "Perhaps you can tell Anthony more about him than I."