"That knowledge is not common with your sex. In any case, the people who see you there——"
"Oh, damn public opinion!" she interrupted irritably. "People who know me know I'm all right; people who don't know me don't matter. And that's all."
"And here's Surrey House," I said, as the taxi slowed down. "I haven't been invited, so I won't come in. If I were you, I should avoid men who don't know when they've drunk as much as is good for them."
"Good night, grandpapa!" she answered, as she ran up the steps and disappeared inside the house.
III
The autumn and winter of 1913 I divided between Ireland and the Riviera. When I came back to London the following spring, Amy Loring told me that her brother had returned. Ostensibly his yacht had to be fitted with new engines, and while in England he was taking the opportunity of attending to a little business. At the time of our conversation he was at House of Steynes, and, as soon as the tour of inspection was over, there would be nothing to keep him.
"Do see if you can knock some sense into him," Amy begged me despairingly. "It's perfectly ridiculous his wandering about all over the world like this. Mother feels it frightfully."
"What is he like now?" I asked.
She brushed back the curls from her forehead and made a gesture of impatience.
"I don't know. He's horribly ironical. Nothing in life is worth doing, according to him. He smiles politely and sneers politely.... And all the time, you know, I'm sure he's as lonely and melancholy as can be. That engagement was an awful business, George. He was very much in love with her——"