“I suppose that is why I feel lonely this afternoon.  In a sense, I am alone.  Cartoner has gone, you know.  He has left Warsaw.”

Deulin glanced at the mirror over the mantel-piece, and if he had had any doubts they were now laid aside, for there was only gladness in Wanda’s face.  It was good news, then.  And Deulin was clever enough to know the meaning of that.

“Gone!” she said.  “I am very glad.”

“Yes,” answered Deulin, gravely, as he returned to his chair.  “It is a good thing.  I left him this morning, placidly preparing to depart at half an hour’s warning.  He was packing, with that repose of manner which you have perhaps noticed.  Better than Vespers, better than absolution, is Cartoner’s repose of manner—­for me, bien entendu.  But, then, I am not a devout man.”

“Then you have done what I asked you to do,” said Wanda, “some time ago, and I am very grateful.”

“Some time ago?  It was only yesterday.”

“Was it?  It seems more than that,” said Wanda.  And Deulin nodded his head slowly.

“I was able to give him some information which made him change his plans quite suddenly,” he explained.  “So he packed up and went.  He had not much to pack.  We travel light—­he and I. We have no despatch-boxes or note-books or diaries.  What we remember and forget we remember and forget in our own heads.  Though I doubt whether Cartoner forgets anything.”

“And you?” asked Wanda, turning upon him quickly.

“I?  Oh!  I do my best,” he said, lightly.  “But if you desire to forget anything you should begin early.  It is not a habit acquired in later life.”

He rose as he spoke and looked at the clock.  He had a habit of peering and contracting his round brown eyes which made many people think that he was short-sighted.

“I do not think I will wait for the Mangles,” he said.  “Especially Julie.  I do not feel in the humor for Julie.  By-the-way—­” He paused, and contemplated the fire thoughtfully.  “You never talk politics, I know.  With the Mangles you may go further, and not even talk of politicians.  It is no affair of theirs that Cartoner may have quitted Warsaw—­you understand?”

“I should have thought Mr. Joseph Mangles the incarnation of discretion,” said Wanda.

“Ah!  You have found out Mangles, have you?  I wonder if you have found us all out.  Yes, Mangles is discreet, but Netty is not.  I call her Netty—­well, because I regard her with a secret and consuming passion.”

“And have an equally secret and complete contempt for her discretion.”

“Ah!” he exclaimed, and turned to look at her again.  “Have I concealed my admiration so successfully as that?  Perhaps I have overdone the concealment.”

“Perhaps you have overdone the contempt,” suggested Wanda.  “She is probably more discreet than you think, but I shall not put her to the test.”