“R’ally!” she cried, and tapped his arm playfully. “You are as stupid as most brilliant men!”
A bugle sang through the evening air. The lady started consciously.
“Heavens!” she cried. “Time to dress for dinner: I must fly!... Have you made your table reservation yet?”
“Yes,” he said hastily.
“Then do see the second-steward at once and get transferred to our table; we have just one vacant chair. Oh, but you must; you’ve promised to be nice to me, you know. And I do so want you to meet one of my protégées—such a sweet girl—a Miss Searle. I’m sure you’ll be crazy about her—at least, you would be if there were no Alison Landis in your cosmos. Now, do attend to that right away. Remember you’ve promised.”
Staff bowed as she fluttered away. In his heart he was thoroughly convinced that this were a sorry scheme of things indeed did it not include a special hell for Mrs. Ilkingtons.
What had she meant by her veiled references to this mysterious person in Paris, who was to board the steamer at Queenstown? How had she come by so much personal knowledge of himself and his work? And what did she know about his love for Alison Landis?
He swore thoughtfully, and went below to dress, stopping on the way to make arrangements with the second-steward to have his seat changed, in accordance with his exacted promise.