"Don't trouble yourself. I'm not wanting medical advice just now," said Stanley. In his confusion, Hemming blushed guiltily, and left the telephone, and the shop, without a word. As he passed into the street, he heard Stanley laughing with the cashier, very likely explaining his action as that of a harmless idiot.
Hemming made all speed to Washington Square. O'Rourke had not yet returned, but on a scrap of paper among his manuscripts he found Tarmont's address. With the help of a cab, he was soon in that gentleman's studio. But, to his disgust, he found that he was not the only visitor. Half a dozen men were lounging on the wide divans, smoking. Hemming managed to get Tarmont away from the crowd.
"Have you seen Stanley to-day?" he asked.
"Not since last night. Why?"
"He is mad as a hatter. Thinks he is entertaining some dead sailor in his rooms."
"Heavens!" exclaimed the artist.
"He talked rather wildly about several things," said Hemming, "and quoted you concerning a girl in England—and me."
"He may have heard me speaking of it," returned Tarmont, defiantly. "He was here last night."
"Why didn't you tell me?" asked the Englishman.
"It was just country-house gossip," replied the artist, "and I hardly thought you would thank me. I imagined you were old enough to know your own business best."