Even as the thought came to me, however, I saw Claire start.  “Look!” she exclaimed.

“What is it?”

“That woman there—­in the green velvet!  The fourth table.”

“I see her.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“Who?” (I remembered Lady Dee’s maxim about lying!)

“Sylvia Castleman!” whispered Claire. (She always referred to her thus—­seeming to say, “I’m as much van Tuiver as she is!”)

“Are you sure?” I asked—­in order to say something.

“I’ve seen her a score of times.  I seem to be always running into her.  That’s Freddie Atkins she’s talking to.”

“Indeed!” said I.

“I know most of the men I see her with.  But I have to walk by as if I’d never seen them.  A queer world we live in, isn’t it?”

I could assent cordially to that proposition.  “Listen,” I broke in, quickly.  “Have you got anything to do?  If not, come down to the Royalty and have tea with me.”

“Why not have it here?”

“I’ve been waiting for someone from there, and I have to leave a message.  Then I’ll be free.”

She rose, to my vast relief, and we walked out.  I could feel Sylvia’s eyes following me; but I dared not try to send her a message—­I would have to make up some explanation afterwards.  “Who was your well-dressed friend?” I could imagine her asking; but my mind was more concerned with the vision of what would happen if, in full sight of her companion, Mr. Freddie Atkins, she were to rise and walk over to Claire and myself!

28.  Seated in the palm-room of the other hotel, I sipped a cup of tea which I felt I had earned, while Claire had a little glass of the fancy-coloured liquids which the ladies in these places affect.  The room was an aviary, with tropical plants and splashing fountains—­and birds of many gorgeous hues; I gazed from one to another of the splendid creatures, wondering how many of them were paying for their plumage in the same way as my present companion.  It would have taken a more practiced eye than mine to say which, for if I had been asked, I would have taken Claire for a diplomat’s wife.  She had not less than a thousand dollars’ worth of raiment upon her, and its style made clear to all the world the fact that it had not been saved over from a previous season of prosperity.  She was a fine creature, who could carry any amount of sail; with her bold, black eyes she looked thoroughly competent, and it was hard to believe in the fundamental softness of her character.

I sat, looking about me, annoyed at having missed Sylvia, and only half listening to Claire.  But suddenly she brought me to attention.  “Well,” she said, “I’ve met him.”

“Met whom?”

“Douglas.”

I stared at her.  “Douglas van Tuiver?”

She nodded; and I suppressed a cry.

“I told you he’d come back,” she added, with a laugh.

“You mean he came to see you?”