The footman came in answer to the bell. Mrs Glinn did not turn round. “I only rang for you to open the door for Sir Hugh,” she said. “Good-bye then, Sir Hugh. Come at five.”
“I will,” he answered, wondering.
When he had gone, Mrs Glinn sat down in a chair and took up a French novel. It was by Gyp. She tried to read it, with tears running over her cheeks. But at last she laid it down.
“After to-morrow,” she murmured. “Ah, why—why does a woman ever love twice?” And then she sobbed.
But the canary sang, and the motes danced merrily in the sunbeams. And on the table where she had put it down lay “Le Mariage de Chiffon.”
II
That evening, when Sir Hugh Maine came back to his rooms in Jermyn Street after dining out, he found a large man sprawling in one of his saddle-back chairs, puffing vigorously at a pipe that looked worn with long and faithful service. The man took the pipe out of his mouth and sprang up.
“Hullo, Maine!” he cried. “D'you recognise the tobacco and me?”
Hugh grasped his hand warmly. “Rather,” he said. “Neither is changed. At least—h'm—I think you both seem a bit stronger even than usual. Who would have thought of seeing you, Manning? I did not know you were in Europe.”
“I came from Asia. I thought I should like to hear Melba before the end of the season. And it was getting sultry out there. So here I am.”