“I suppose that Lady Eunice—or Mrs. Forrester—kept on worrying her. Was that it?” My attempt to explain away the form of my question was not very convincing. Godfrey disposed of it unceremoniously. “If you were really such a damned fool as you’re trying to appear, I shouldn’t be here talking to you,” he remarked. “There was more in it than that of course.” “Well, tell me what happened. We can discuss it afterwards,” I suggested. “Just what happened? All right—and soon told. Nina saw me walking up and down, smoking. She smiled what they call brightly; so did Lady Eunice. One or other of them pulled the string, I suppose; the car stopped; the chauffeur lay back in his seat in the resigned sort of way those chaps have when they’re stopped for some silly reason or other—most reasons do seem to appear silly to them, don’t they? Really superior chauffeurs, I mean, such as Nina’s bound to have. I took off my hat and went up to the car. ‘Why, it’s Mr. Frost!’ said Eunice, just as surprised as you’d have expected her to be.” “I certainly acquit Lady Eunice of malice aforethought,” said I. “‘And who’d have thought of meeting him here?’ said Nina. You know that smile of hers?” “Have I found thee, O my enemy?” “Exactly. I must say that you do know a thing or two about Nina. ‘I thought you were in Nice all the time!’ she went on—oh, quite pleasantly. ‘We’ll take him in to lunch and make him give an account of himself, won’t we, Eunice? He’s deserted us disgracefully!’ You never saw anybody more amiable. And Lady Eunice was awfully cordial too—‘Oh, yes, you must lunch with us, Mr. Frost, and tell us what you’ve been doing. We’ve been very dull, haven’t we, Lady Dundrannan?’ The thing seemed going so well”—here Godfrey gave one of the reflective smiles which witnessed to the humor that lay in him, though it was deeply hidden under other and more serviceable qualities—“that the chauffeur, after a yawn, got down from his seat and opened the door of the car for me to get in. And I was just going to get in—hypnotized or something, I suppose—when down the drive from the hotel came Donna Lucinda. She came along with that free swinging walk of hers, as independent and unconcerned as you please, in her neat, plain, black frock, and carrying one of those big, round, shiny black boxes that you see the _midinettes_ with. Only her stockings looked a shade smarter than most of them run to. Of course she didn’t know the car by sight as I did—some people think that yellow too showy, but I like it myself, provided you’ve got a good car to show it off on—and I suppose I was hidden, or half hidden by it. At any rate, she came sailing down the hotel drive all serene. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen her looking more splendid in all my life!” “You’d known her for just about a week.” “Well, then, damn it, in all the week that I had known her. I do wish you wouldn’t interrupt me, Julius!”