But this thing should not happen if he could prevent it.
The band was now playing one of Waldteufel’s waltzes. Mensmore listened to the fascinating melody for a moment. He hesitated at the door of the writing-room; but he went out, puffing furiously at his cigarette. A guard looked at him as he turned to the right of the entrance, and made for the shaded terraces overlooking the sea.
“A silent Englishman,” thought the man; and he caught sight of Bruce, also smoking, preoccupied, and solitary.
“Another silent Englishman. Mon Dieu! What miserable lives these English lead!”
And so the two vanished into the blackness of the foliage, while, within the brilliantly lighted building, the frou-frou of silk mingled with soft laughter and the sweet strains of music.
If it be true that extremes meet, then this was a night for a tragedy.