"Well, I'm blowed!" There was that little flicker of the eyelids that Carstairs knew so well. "Yes, there you are," he handed him a card with an address on it.
"Thanks! When will you be out?"
"Ye gods. Ha! Ha! Ha! Good old Carstairs. The northern air is simply wonderful for the nerves. Ha! Ha! Ha! I tell you what. I'll go out this evening, just to oblige you. I'll go to the theatre. I haven't seen the new thing at Daly's yet."
"Thanks!" Carstairs turned and went away. He made his way to the address in South Kensington that Darwen had given him. It was a boarding-house; he asked for Mrs Darwen and sent in his card. The German page-waiter sort of chap showed him up to their private sitting-room.
She entered almost immediately, looking older and whiter, her eyes more bleared and her cheeks deeply furrowed. She looked him sadly in the face.
"I knew you'd quarrel," she said.
"I'm sorry," he answered. "It couldn't be helped; we didn't really quarrel, I called on him to-day."
"Ah!" There was a gleam of pleasure in her eyes. "Why didn't you call on me before you left Southville?"
"I couldn't—then, he'd just broken me—chucked me aside like a broken chisel. I sent you my best respects."
"Yes, so he said: I wondered if he lied. You're—so—I thought you would have called—about the girl."