Madame de Corantin broke into that catching laugh of hers. “Very well then, ‘Bobby,’ my friend, I am going to trust to your discretion by telling you my little story. I was once travelling on a ship going to America—at that time I was very unhappy. I was quite alone. My husband had recently died. I have been very lucky in my life—you are an example.”
“I?” exclaimed Bobby.
“Yes, you. Did you not arrive on the scene just when I wanted you, at the Gare du Nord?”
“Oh yes, I see what you mean. Of course, of course; thanks awfully for saying that.”
“Well, just as you arrived then, so some one else arrived once long ago, and I was grateful to him, as indeed I am grateful to you.”
Bobby was trying to find something to say, but Madame de Corantin continued—
“I was glad of protection going to America. It is not pleasant for a woman to have to travel alone. I daresay some people would have misunderstood the position. My companion on that voyage was well known. He was a Prince of a distinguished German family. He was nothing to me. I need hardly tell you that.”
The suggestion in her last remark was not very flattering to Bobby, but he was too much interested to notice it.
“On that same ship was travelling your friend, Mr. Ramsey. He knew the Prince slightly, I do not know how.”
“Oh, he always manages to get to know people somehow or other. That’s one of Ramsey’s special gifts,” Bobby remarked with as near an approach to bitterness as he was capable of expressing.