He paused, and glanced round the fast emptying hall.
As he did so, Milbanke hurried up, his manner newly interested, his thin face flushed.
"Who do you think I have just seen, Clodagh?" he asked excitedly. "Mr. Angelo Tombs—that interesting scientist who joined our party at Pisa last year!"
Clodagh looked round.
"What?" she said in surprise. "The big, untidy-looking man, who had written a book on something terribly unpronounceable?"
Milbanke nodded gravely.
"Yes," he said. "A most interesting and exhaustive work. I shall make a point of congratulating him upon it directly we have finished dinner."
"And what about me?" Barnard eyed him quizzically.
"You! Oh, you must wait, David! You will understand that a man like Mr. Tombs is not to be met with every day."
They were entering the dining-room as Milbanke spoke; and involuntarily Barnard glanced from the precise, formal figure of his friend, to the youthful, attractive form of his friend's wife.