Bobby had met Clancey at all sorts of places, but they had never been on intimate terms; in fact, the two men had little more than a nodding acquaintance. Bobby had run into him the last time at Homburg, and Clancey had given him to understand that he had some sort of vague diplomatic appointment. He had drifted across Bobby’s life afterwards in a shadowy way, seeming to have nothing special to do, but to know a great many people and to take life as a sort of a joke. He talked lightly and cynically about serious things, and used foreign expressions with great ease and fluency. It was characteristic of him that since the War he made frequent use of German idioms, and when conversation turned upon passing events he professed a complete contempt for English ideas, habits, and methods, and a great admiration for those of the Germans.
“What’s your job at the War Office?” asked Bobby.
“As I really don’t know myself it is rather difficult to explain it to you,” answered the other, “but it seems chiefly to consist in sitting tight and preventing other people from annexing it.”
“I’m up for a commission,” remarked Bobby. “Can you do anything to help me about it?”
“Dear me, what a silly thing to do! What regiment?”
Bobby explained.
“I shall be charmed to do what I can,” replied Clancey, “but as they simply loathe me at Headquarters I don’t think it will do you much good.”
They fell to discussing other things. Bobby, obsessed by his recent experiences, could not resist telling his companion something about them. But he did not mention Ramsey. The implied admission that he had been cut out was too humiliating. Clancey’s interest was evidently aroused. He wanted to hear all about Madame de Corantin.
“She seems to have fascinated you,” he remarked.
“She’d fascinate anybody.”