“You are speaking of yourself,” she remarked mischievously.
“No—I spoke collectively. Marriage or burial will be the lot of all of us—some sooner, some later.”
“Ah,” she exclaimed, as if suddenly recollecting, “you have not spoken of Mademoiselle Valérie. How is she? Do you often hear from her?”
“I had a letter a month ago. She was still in Brussels, and apparently in good health.”
“She has been absent some time now. When do you intend seeing her?”
“Soon—in a few days perhaps.”
“A few days,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Is she returning to London?”
“No; I have decided to travel back with you to-morrow, and then go on to Belgium.”
“You haven’t forgotten her, then?” she said in a strained, reproachful tone.
“Forgotten her!” he exclaimed. “Why should I?”