“No,” I declared, “we have agreed to part again—that’s all.”
He was silent for a moment, contemplating the end of his cigar. Then he observed:
“Well, if I may be permitted to say so, old fellow, I think you’ve chosen a very wise course. You, in your official position, ought not to be mixed up with any mystery of this sort.”
“I know, Dick—I know quite well,” I responded hastily. “You, however, do not love a woman as I love Yolande.”
“Love be hanged!” he cried, laughing. “Love is like the influenza—painful while it lasts, but easily forgotten.”
“This matter is too serious for joking,” I said, a trifle annoyed by his flippancy.
“Ah, I’ve heard that story once or twice before! It is astonishing what a difference a month makes in the course of the malady. Take my tip, old chap, and think no more of her. Depend upon it, your charming Yolande with the pretty hair, that used to be admired so much in Brussels, is not worth the position of wife to a good fellow like you.”
“That’s all very well,” I sighed. “I know I was a fool to have called upon her, but I was compelled.”
“What compelled you?”
“A circumstance over which I had no control,” I answered, for I did not intend to explain to him the accusation made against her by Kaye.