“It would be wonderfully good of you,” he said with hesitation. “But would it not look rather odd?”
“I never care what a thing looks,” she replied with impatience, “and really, my dear Wuffie, I don’t believe even an international jury of British and German matrons would put a scandalous interpretation on a visit to a dying man of seventy-eight years of age!”
“He’s only sixty-eight,” murmured his grandnephew. “But of course, if you don’t mind, it would be exceedingly kind of you, and—and——”
“Where is Prince Khris living—do you know?”
“No.”
“Oh, I can soon find out when I get there. He won’t be far from the Casino.”
The young soldier was surprised. He had not thought charity abode within the white bosom of his enchanting friend. He could not easily imagine her sitting by a discarded and despised old sinner’s deathbed. He had seen her in many characters but never in that of the ministering angel when pain and anguish wring the brow.
“What on earth is she up to?” he thought, and said a little awkwardly:
“He didn’t win much, I think; he’d just got on a run of the rouge when he dropped——”
“My dear Wuffie, I’m not going to steal his winnings!” said Mouse with her pretty crystal-clear laugh. “I’ve known him a long time, poor old man, and it’s only human to go and look after him. People at Monte Carlo are wild beasts, and they didn’t look off the tables I dare say, when he fell, and I am sure none of them will go near him. I shall take the two o’clock train; you can come over on Sunday as we agreed.”