He outlined the events of the preceding day.
"What?" he continued. "They didn't even tell you about Miss Wilberforce? Well, whether she thought it was her birthday, or whether all these omens upset her nerves—Oh, the usual thing, only rather more so. Decidedly more so. It was late at night, you see, and she insisted on singing 'Auld Lang Syne,' and even on translating it, for the benefit of the constable who arrested her, into her own particular brand of Italian. In fact, there was a good deal of trouble, till somebody let down a blanket from a window. It happened to be a new policeman unaccustomed to her ways, and he has had a bad shock. His wife complained to the judge, who set round word to me this morning that she was in the lock-up."
"In prison. An English lady!"
"It is not the first time by any means. But I feel exactly as you do about it. I've bailed her out, and stopped his mouth with a fifty-franc note. Please keep this between ourselves."
Mr. Heard was not pleased to learn this incident. It seemed a discordant note on Nepenthe. He observed:
"Miss Wilberforce apparently can be relied upon to create a diversion of a scandalous nature. I wish I could do something to help such a poor creature."
"The dear lady! I don't know what we should do without her. By the way,
have you seen Denis lately? We must be friendly to that young fellow,
Heard. I don't think he is altogether happy in this clear pagan light.
He seems to be oppressed about something. What do you make of him?"
"Of Denis? Nothing at all."
"You interest me."
"How so?"