Norgate was on the point of speaking of his excursion to Knocke but was conscious of Selingman’s curiously intent gaze.  The spirit of duplicity seemed to grow upon him.

“I walked for a little way,” he said.  “Afterwards I lay upon the sands and slept.  When I found that the steamer was still further delayed, I had a bath.  That was half an hour ago.  I asked a man whom I met on the promenade where one might dine in travelling clothes, lightly but well, and he sent me here—­the Bar de Londres—­and here, for my good fortune, I am.”

“It is a pity that monsieur does not speak French,” one of Selingman’s companions murmured.

“But, mademoiselle,” Norgate protested, “I have spoken French all my life.  Herr Selingman here has misunderstood me.  It is German of which I am ignorant.”

The young lady, who immediately introduced herself as Mademoiselle Henriette, passed her arm through Selingman’s.

“We dine here all together, my friend, is it not so?” she begged.  “He will not be in the way, and for myself, I am triste.  You talk all the time to Mademoiselle l’Americaine, perhaps because she is the friend of some one in whom you are interested.  But for me, it is dull.  Monsieur l’Anglais shall talk with me, and you may hear all the secrets that Alice has to tell.  We,” she murmured, looking up at Norgate, “will speak of other things, is it not so?”

For a moment Selingman hesitated.  Norgate would have moved on with a little farewell nod, but Selingman’s companions were insistent.

“It shall be a partie carree,” they both declared, almost in unison.

“You need have no fear,” Mademoiselle Henriette continued.  “I will talk all the time to monsieur.  He shall tell me his name, and we shall be very great friends.  I am not interested in the things of which they talk, those others.  You shall tell me of London, monsieur, and how you live there.”

“Join us, by all means,” Selingman invited.

“On condition that you dine with me,” Norgate insisted, as he took up the menu.

“Impossible!” Selingman declared firmly.

“Oh! it matters nothing,” Mademoiselle Henriette exclaimed, “so long as we dine.”

“So long,” Mademoiselle Alice intervened, “as we have this brief glimpse of Mr. Selingman, let us make the best of it.  We see him only because of a contretemps.  I think we must be very nice to him and persuade him to take us to London to-night.”

Selingman’s shake of the head was final.

“Dear young ladies,” he said, “it was delightful to find you here.  I came upon the chance, I admit, but who in Ostend would not be here between six and eight?  We dine, we walk down to the quay, and if you will, you shall wave your hands and wish us bon voyage, but London just now is triste.  It is here you may live the life the bon Dieu sends, where the sun shines all the time and the sea laps the sands like a great blue lake, and you, mademoiselle, can wear those wonderful costumes and charm all hearts.  There is nothing like that for you in London.”