"Richard Le Geyt M. Then he had another name as well," said Mrs. Stoddart. "You can't recall having ever heard it?"
Annette shook her head.
"He is supposed to be an English lord," she said, "and very rich. And he rides his own horses, and makes and loses a great deal of money on the turf. And he is peculiar—very depressed one year, and very wild the next. That is all that people like us who are not his social equals know of him."
"I do not even know what your name is," said Mrs. Stoddart tentatively, as she rearranged Dick's clothes in the drawers, and took up a bottle of lotion which had evidently been intended for his strained neck.
"My name is Annette."
"Well, Annette, I think the best thing you can do is to write to your home and say that you are coming back to it immediately."
"I have no home."
Mrs. Stoddart was silent. Any information which Annette vouchsafed about herself always seemed to entail silence.
"I have made up my mind," Annette went on, "to stay with Dick till he is better. He is the only person I care a little bit about."