“I was aware of some misunderstanding. . . . But if you’ll allow me to say so, I never discuss relations between husband and wife. Don’t you think that’s a good rule?”
He spoke in his friendliest way, but his rebuke, as it seemed, made Bertram flush deeply.
“I have no intention of discussing my relations with Joyce. I merely desired to thank you for having been a good friend to her during my absence.”
Kenneth laughed, in a queer, strained way.
“My dear fellow! No need for thanks. . . . I try to play the game, according to the rules.”
He raised his hand with a gesture that was almost a salute, and disappeared into the British Embassy.
XLIII
Mr. Mahony, the uncle of Betty O’Brien, with whom Susan was staying, lived in an apartment on the upper floor of a house in the shabby end of the rue de la Pompe, out at Passy, by “Metro” from the Place de la Concorde.
“Quatrième à gauche”—fourth floor on the left—was the direction given to Bertram by the concierge, an enormous man who was wedged with his almost equally fat wife in a little room on the ground floor with a glass window through which he could observe those who came and went. He added to his information by the surly remark that Bertram would find the right door by the abominable noise that issued from it.
“What kind of noise?” asked Bertram.