“She mentioned no names.”

“I do not think that anyone knows that.  So that made the adventure more alluring, did it?”

“Well, it did certainly give a spice to it.  Don’t you think so?”

“I tell you that I am very ignorant about these things.”

“My dear fellow, you can remember that the apple you stole from your neighbour’s tree was always sweeter than that which fell from your own.  And then I found that she cared for me.”

“What—­at once?”

“Oh, no, it took about three months of sapping and mining.  But at last I won her over.  She understood that my judicial separation from my wife made it impossible for me to do the right thing by her—­but she came all the same, and we had a delightful time, as long as it lasted.”

“But how about the other man?”

Kennedy shrugged his shoulders.

“I suppose it is the survival of the fittest,” said he.  “If he had been the better man she would not have deserted him.  Let’s drop the subject, for I have had enough of it!”

“Only one other thing.  How did you get rid of her in three weeks?”

“Well, we had both cooled down a bit, you understand.  She absolutely refused, under any circumstances, to come back to face the people she had known in Rome.  Now, of course, Rome is necessary to me, and I was already pining to be back at my work—­so there was one obvious cause of separation.  Then, again, her old father turned up at the hotel in London, and there was a scene, and the whole thing became so unpleasant that really—­though I missed her dreadfully at first—­I was very glad to slip out of it.  Now, I rely upon you not to repeat anything of what I have said.”

“My dear Kennedy, I should not dream of repeating it.  But all that you say interests me very much, for it gives me an insight into your way of looking at things, which is entirely different from mine, for I have seen so little of life.  And now you want to know about my new catacomb.  There’s no use my trying to describe it, for you would never find it by that.  There is only one thing, and that is for me to take you there.”

“That would be splendid.”

“When would you like to come?”

“The sooner the better.  I am all impatience to see it.”

“Well, it is a beautiful night—­though a trifle cold.  Suppose we start in an hour.  We must be very careful to keep the matter to ourselves.  If anyone saw us hunting in couples they would suspect that there was something going on.”

“We can’t be too cautious,” said Kennedy.  “Is it far?”

“Some miles.”

“Not too far to walk?”

“Oh, no, we could walk there easily.”

“We had better do so, then.  A cabman’s suspicions would be aroused if he dropped us both at some lonely spot in the dead of the night.”

“Quite so.  I think it would be best for us to meet at the Gate of the Appian Way at midnight.  I must go back to my lodgings for the matches and candles and things.”