I sank into a chair close to him and told him of Aline’s visit.
“And you’re clean gone on her—eh?” he queried.
I shrugged my shoulders and gave him a vague reply.
“Well, take care,” he said in a serious tone. “If I were you I’d find out who and what she is. She might be some adventuress or other.”
“Do you suspect her to be an adventuress?” I inquired quickly.
“My dear fellow, how can I tell? There seems to me something rather shady about her, that’s all.”
I pondered. Yes, he spoke the truth. There was something shady about her. She would tell me absolutely nothing of herself.
We smoked together for half an hour, then parted, for he was compelled to go down to the House, as a dutiful legislator should.
A week passed yet I saw not Aline, nor had any word from her. From day to day I existed in all anxiety to once again look upon that face so angelic in its beauty and so pure in expression. Indeed, more than once I felt inclined to break the promise I had made her and call at Ellerdale Road, but I refrained, fearing lest such a course might annoy her.
One evening, a fortnight after she had visited me, I was walking along the Bayswater Road towards Oxford Street, skirting the railings of Hyde Park, when suddenly I noticed before me two figures, a man and a woman. They were walking slowly, deep in conversation.