the second evening, after dinner, they both met him vis-à-vis. He was sitting in the patio with a neglected cup of coffee resting on the broad arm of his bamboo chair, and pretended to be reading a newspaper. Since he appeared not to see them, Blair was under no necessity of bowing to him. Furthermore, both men were hatless. A snub could not have been more painlessly arranged by both parties under any circumstances.
Owing to the patio’s limitations, Blair and Eleanor had to content themselves with chairs which remained in full view of him. A triple cat-and-mouse-play at once began. Serrano, over the top of his newspaper, stared at Eleanor as if to determine just how much she had admitted to her husband. Blair kept his eyes on Eleanor’s face to find out if she were looking at Serrano, and if any signals were passing between them. Eleanor gazed steadily downward into her own lap, and seemed to be absorbed in nervously twisting her ring about on her finger, now this way, now that. Finally, as though she could bear the situation no longer, she got up and went up to their room, saying she had forgotten her powder puff and would be down in a moment. Blair at once transferred his interest to Serrano, to see what move he would make. Their glances met and Serrano, as soon as Eleanor was gone, rose to his feet and idly sauntered over to him. He nodded his head in recognition and said, “I must be getting blind. I did not see you until now. And where is your wife this evening?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Blair said. “Perhaps she is taking her usual tea and anisette.”
Serrano gave him a disconcerted look and made as if to move on.
“About that little matter we were discussing the other day,” Blair proceeded, “if you still want the handkerchief, there is ample time for you to intercept the chambermaid who cleans our room. It was my wife’s, and she threw it into the waste-basket.”
Serrano arched his brows in mock inquiry.
“It is customary, then, for her to treat her handkerchiefs so?”
“Yes,” Blair answered, “you see with us, as she has already told you, a handkerchief is only a handkerchief, nothing more.”
“And what do you think it is to other people,” Serrano asked insolently, “a sacred symbol of salvation ?”
“Good evening,” Blair said, without moving from where he sat.
Serrano gave him a scornful look and walked on, his newspaper pinned under one arm.
Neither of them wished a scene, Serrano probably because of his infant diplomatic career and certainly Blair because Eleanor’s name was more or less involved, and yet both realized that in a moment more they would have rushed headlong into one. More than one of the costume-connoisseurs scattered about the patio at strategic spots reading books, playing solitaire, and deciphering anagrams, would look intently over at them from time to time whenever she thought herself unobserved. Serrano’s maneuver in not venturing to approach until after Eleanor was gone had been duly noted and had whetted their curiosity to the point of conjecture. From conjecture it was only a step to firm belief, though each one held to her own theory and was in no way loath to set it forth.
“She’s had a quarrel with him, and now he’s trying to curry favor with the husband.”
“No, I think it’s the other way around. Her husband’s smelt a rat and is keeping them away from each other, and the other fellow is trying to get information out of him.”
“It’s about time he found out, anyway. I saw the two of them drive back in a carriage one afternoon and he was wearing the same kind of flower in his buttonhole that she held in her lap, he’d evidently bought them for her.”
“And Mrs. Galbraith told me that one day she took tea with her outside the city and he suddenly popped up magically right under their feet, and when Mrs. Galbraith felt that the only thing to do was to leave, she stayed behind”—a suitable pause — ”alone with
Owing to the patio’s limitations, Blair and Eleanor had to content themselves with chairs which remained in full view of him. A triple cat-and-mouse-play at once began. Serrano, over the top of his newspaper, stared at Eleanor as if to determine just how much she had admitted to her husband. Blair kept his eyes on Eleanor’s face to find out if she were looking at Serrano, and if any signals were passing between them. Eleanor gazed steadily downward into her own lap, and seemed to be absorbed in nervously twisting her ring about on her finger, now this way, now that. Finally, as though she could bear the situation no longer, she got up and went up to their room, saying she had forgotten her powder puff and would be down in a moment. Blair at once transferred his interest to Serrano, to see what move he would make. Their glances met and Serrano, as soon as Eleanor was gone, rose to his feet and idly sauntered over to him. He nodded his head in recognition and said, “I must be getting blind. I did not see you until now. And where is your wife this evening?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Blair said. “Perhaps she is taking her usual tea and anisette.”
Serrano gave him a disconcerted look and made as if to move on.
“About that little matter we were discussing the other day,” Blair proceeded, “if you still want the handkerchief, there is ample time for you to intercept the chambermaid who cleans our room. It was my wife’s, and she threw it into the waste-basket.”
Serrano arched his brows in mock inquiry.
“It is customary, then, for her to treat her handkerchiefs so?”
“Yes,” Blair answered, “you see with us, as she has already told you, a handkerchief is only a handkerchief, nothing more.”
“And what do you think it is to other people,” Serrano asked insolently, “a sacred symbol of salvation ?”
“Good evening,” Blair said, without moving from where he sat.
Serrano gave him a scornful look and walked on, his newspaper pinned under one arm.
Neither of them wished a scene, Serrano probably because of his infant diplomatic career and certainly Blair because Eleanor’s name was more or less involved, and yet both realized that in a moment more they would have rushed headlong into one. More than one of the costume-connoisseurs scattered about the patio at strategic spots reading books, playing solitaire, and deciphering anagrams, would look intently over at them from time to time whenever she thought herself unobserved. Serrano’s maneuver in not venturing to approach until after Eleanor was gone had been duly noted and had whetted their curiosity to the point of conjecture. From conjecture it was only a step to firm belief, though each one held to her own theory and was in no way loath to set it forth.
“She’s had a quarrel with him, and now he’s trying to curry favor with the husband.”
“No, I think it’s the other way around. Her husband’s smelt a rat and is keeping them away from each other, and the other fellow is trying to get information out of him.”
“It’s about time he found out, anyway. I saw the two of them drive back in a carriage one afternoon and he was wearing the same kind of flower in his buttonhole that she held in her lap, he’d evidently bought them for her.”
“And Mrs. Galbraith told me that one day she took tea with her outside the city and he suddenly popped up magically right under their feet, and when Mrs. Galbraith felt that the only thing to do was to leave, she stayed behind”—a suitable pause — ”alone with
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