Having smartly set the landlord right in those words, she had not thought it necessary to add that Lady Le Basque, continuing the allowance at her husband’s request, had also notified that it would cease if Mrs. Westerfield married again.
“You’re a lucky woman,” the landlord remarked. “Well, I’m glad to see you. What will you take to drink?”
“Nothing, thank you. I want to know if you have heard anything lately of James Bellbridge?”
The landlord was a popular person in his own circle—not accustomed to restrain himself when he saw his way to a joke. “Here’s constancy!” he said. “She’s sweet on James, after having jilted him twelve years ago!”
Mrs. Westerfield replied with dignity. “I am accustomed to be treated respectfully,” she replied. “I wish you good-morning.”
The easy landlord pressed her back into her chair. “Don’t be a fool,” he said; “James is in London—James is staying in my house. What do you think of that?”
Mrs. Westerfield’s bold gray eyes expressed eager curiosity and interest. “You don’t mean that he is going to be barman here again?”
“No such luck, my dear; he is a gentleman at large, who patronizes my house.”
Mrs. Westerfield went on with her questions.
“Has he left America for good?”