We were, I think, as much relieved as surprised, for the moment. I whispered across to Terry: "Severn has just come, but Helen isn't with him. Can you see them? ... It's some woman whose face I don't seem to recognize." And he replied, quite calmly: "Neither do I. I can see them in the mirror.... What language is it they're speaking?" We tried to listen, but it wasn't very easy. Terry was certain it wasn't German, and I thought it wasn't French or Italian or Spanish. "Probably," I said, "it's Hungarian--though it's rather an odd language for him to know. And the woman, maybe, is some Magyar countess, if there are such things.... Severn _does_ know everybody everywhere, doesn't he?" For several minutes he didn't answer. Then, with a rather impatient gesture, he said: "I think we've finished. Let's go for a walk before bedtime." So we rose and walked to the doors, and by an especial miracle on our behalf, Severn didn't look round. But the woman was watching us, and with her creamy elbows on the table and a cocktail held languorously to her lips, she looked as exotically lovely as any woman I had ever seen. Severn had good taste. We went out into the fragrant night-smelling streets, crossed the suspension-bridge over the Danube, and climbed the hill into the old town of Buda. Seeing Severn, after the prolonged tension of expecting to see him, had been almost an anti-climax; indeed, when I thought about it, a meeting with him wouldn't be at all a bad idea provided that Helen wasn't with him. There was no doubt that the rest of our stay in Pesth would be the brighter for his company and conversation. I almost hoped we _should_ meet him. And as for the woman, perhaps she would be worth meeting as well.... All these and other thoughts wandered idly through my mind as we strolled about the quiet streets of Buda. It was a Hans Andersen town, with fairy palaces and terraces and castles all hanging precipitously over the moonlit ribbon of the Danube; and for some reason the quiet loveliness of it made me think of Mizzi and of the almost perfect ending there would be to all Terry's difficulties if only he could grow to love her. I even said to him, as we were descending the hill on the way back to the hotel: "Wouldn't it have been jolly if we could have brought Mizzi here with us?" He looked at me in a way that told me that his thoughts were very far indeed away from Mizzi. "She could never leave her hotel," he replied, and that, in his mind, was the end of her. IX Two hours later I was in bed and asleep, and three hours later I cautiously opened my bedroom door to see Terry standing, fully dressed and very pale, in the corridor. We had been given adjacent rooms on the top floor--furthest from the cockroaches--and I had been very tired and sleepy. Heaven knows how long he had been knocking before I was awakened. "You've not been to bed yet?" I exclaimed dazedly; and he said: "It's not late--not much after one o'clock. Can I come in?"