“Sorry I can’t, old chap,” I responded. “The Chief and I have a dinner engagement at the Austrian Embassy. I’d much rather be with you; for, as you know, I’m tired to death of official functions.”
“You’re bound to attend them, I suppose?”
“Yes, worse luck,” I replied. “To be a diplomatist one must, like a Lord Mayor, possess an ostrich’s digestion.”
“Well, good-bye, old chap. Sorry, you can’t come,” he said, smiling. “But do buck up! I don’t want to have you as a patient, you know. Take my advice, and just forget your pretty charmer. She’s leaving to-morrow, and there’s no reason on earth why you should meet again.”
“But about that letter?” I suggested. “We surely ought to clear up the mystery?”
“Let it pass,” he urged. “Don’t call there again, but simply forget her. Remember, you have Edith.”
His words recalled to me the fact that I had received a letter from her that morning, and that it was still in my pocket unopened.
“Yes, I know,” I exclaimed rather impatiently. “I shall, of course, try to forget. But I fear that I shall never succeed—never!”
“Take my advice and forget it all,” he cried cheerfully, clapping me on the back. “Good-bye.”
We clasped hands in a firm grip of friendship. Then he walked out, and I was left alone.