“Well?” said I.

“I am ready to go back to my husband, if he can be found, and, of course, if he will have me.”

I commended her for a brave women.  She smiled rather sadly and shook her head.

“Those are two gigantic ‘ifs.’”

“Giants before now have been slain by the valiant,” I replied.

“How is Captain Vauvenarde to be found?”

“An officer in the French Army is not like a lost sparrow in London.  His whereabouts could be obtained from the French War Office.  What is his regiment?”

“The Chasseurs d’Afrique.  Yes,” she added thoughtfully.  “I see, it isn’t difficult to trace him.  I make one condition, however.  You can’t refuse me.”

“What is that?”

“Until things are fixed up everything must go on just as at present between Dale and me.  He is not to be told anything.  If nothing comes of it then I’ll have him all to myself.  I won’t give him up and be left alone.  As long as I care for him, I swear to God, I won’t!” she said, in her low, rich voice—­and I saw by her face that she was a woman of her word.  “Besides, he would come raving and imploring—­and I’m not quite a woman of stone.  It isn’t all jam to go back to my husband.  Goodness knows why I am thinking of it.  It’s for your sake.  Do you know that?”

I did not.  I was puzzled.  Why in the world should Lola Brandt, whom I have only met three or four times, revolutionise the whole of her life for my sake?

“I should have thought it was for Dale’s,” said I.

“I suppose you would, being a man,” she replied.

I retorted, with a smile:  “Woman is the eternal conundrum to which the wise man always leaves her herself to supply the answer.  Doubtless one of these days you’ll do it.  Meanwhile, I’ll wait in patience.”

She gave me one of her sidelong, flashing glances and sewed with more vigour than appeared necessary.  I admired the beautiful curves of her neck and shoulders as she bent over her work.  She seemed too strong to wield such an insignificant weapon as a needle.

“That’s neither here nor there,” she said in reference to my last remark.  “I say, I don’t look forward to going back to my husband—­though why I should say ‘going back’ I don’t know, as he left me—­not I him.  Anyhow, I’m ready to do it.  If it can be managed, I’ll cut myself adrift suddenly from Dale.  It will be more merciful to him.  A man can bear a sudden blow better than lingering pain.  If it can’t be managed, well, Dale will know nothing at all about it, and both he and I will be saved a mortal deal of worry and unhappiness.”

“Suppose” said I, “it can’t be managed?  Do you propose to keep Dale ignorant of the danger he is running in keeping up a liaison with a married woman living apart from her husband?”

She reflected.  “If my husband says he’ll see me damned first before he’ll come back to me, then I’ll tell Dale everything, and you can say what you like to him.  He’ll be able to judge for himself; but in the meanwhile you’ll let me have what happiness I can.”