“I think—that men always know,”
Helene said, “if they care to. Was Lucille
happy with you?”
“Absolutely. I am sure of it.”
“Then your first assumption must be correct,”
she declared. “You cannot explain things
to me, so I cannot help you even with my advice.
I am sorry.”
He turned his head towards her and regarded her critically,
as though making some test of her sincerity.
“Helene,” he said gravely, “it is
for your own sake that I do not explain further, that
I do not make things clearer to you. Only I
wanted you to understand why I once more set foot in
Europe. I wanted you to understand why I am
here. It is to win back Lucille. It is
like that with me, Helene. I, who once schemed
and plotted for an empire, am once more a schemer
and a worker, but for no other purpose than to recover
possession of the woman whom I love. You do not
recognise me, Helene. I do not recognise myself.
Nevertheless, I would have you know the truth.
I am here for that, and for no other purpose.”
He rose slowly to his feet. She held out both
her hands and grasped his.
“Let me help you,” she begged. “Do!
This is not a matter of politics or anything compromising.
I am sure that I could be useful to you.”
“So you can,” he answered quietly.
“Do as I have asked you. Watch Mr. Brott!”
Mr. Brott and Mr. Sabin dined together—not,
as it happened, at the House of Commons, but at the
former’s club in Pall Mall. For Mr. Sabin
it was not altogether an enjoyable meal. The
club was large, gloomy and political; the cooking
was exactly of that order which such surroundings
seemed to require. Nor was Mr. Brott a particularly
brilliant host. Yet his guest derived a certain
amount of pleasure from the entertainment, owing to
Brott’s constant endeavours to bring the conversation
round to Lucille.
“I find,” he said, as they lit their cigarettes,
“that I committed an indiscretion the other
day at Camperdown House!”
Mr. Sabin assumed the puzzled air of one endeavouring
to pin down an elusive memory.
“Let me see,” he murmured doubtfully.
“It was in connection with—”
“The Countess Radantz. If you remember,
I told you that it was her desire just now to remain
incognito. I, however, unfortunately forgot
this during the course of our conversation.”
“Yes, I remember. You told me where she
was staying. But the Countess and I are old
acquaintances. I feel sure that she did not
object to your having given me her address. I
could not possibly leave London without calling upon
her.”
Mr. Brott moved in his chair uneasily.
“It seems presumption on my part to make such
a suggestion perhaps,” he said slowly, “but
I really believe that the Countess is in earnest with
reference to her desire for seclusion just at present.
I believe that she is really very anxious that her
presence in London, just now should not be generally
known.”
