“They’re quite right,” the old gentleman replied. “Quite right!” Then, after a pause, he went on, “I suppose you never spoke to Markham on the subject, after all?”
“No, indeed, I didn’t,” I mumbled, making the best reply I could under the circumstances. “Fact is, I never saw him.”
“Why, didn’t he turn up?”
“I forget.” And then I uneasily added, “You know what a feather-headed feller he is.”
The old gentleman laughed and said, “Somebody ought to speak to him, though.”
“Well, what’s the matter with his wife?” I said, unconsciously, dropping into one of Brentin’s phrases.
“That’s more than I can tell you,” the old gentleman replied. “She’s looked like that for a long time now.”
I was so rapidly getting tired of this footling talk, not to mention the fibs it entailed and the precious time being wasted, that, at any cost, I determined to put a stop to it; so I rose with an effort, and saying, vaguely, “Well, I’ve got to meet my wife; good-day to you! I dare say I shall see you again somewhere about,” strolled off towards the Casino steps.
The old gentleman, who had evidently looked forward to a long conversation, answered me rather gruffly, “Good-day!”—while straight up to one of the attendants at the head of the steps I walked.
“Yes, monsieur,” the man politely said, “the rooms are open for play at twelve.”