I shrugged, and accepting my banishment, looked about for another interesting neighbour to watch instead of Mrs. Ingram. But I found that no one else interested me…

              

 

 II.
 
 

            “Don’t you think you might tell me now,” I said to Mrs. Ingram a few days later, “why your friend insisted on banishing me to the farther end of the restaurant?”

            I need hardly say that, in spite of Miss Wilpert’s prejudice against her compatriots, she had not been able to prevent my making the acquaintance of Mrs. Ingram. I forget how it came about—the pretext of a dropped letter, a deck chair to be moved out of the sun, or one of the hundred devices which bring two people together when they are living idle lives under the same roof. I had not gained my end without difficulty, however, for the ill-assorted pair were almost always together. But luckily Miss Wilpert played bridge, and Mrs. Ingram did not, and before long I had learned to profit by this opportunity, and in the course of time to make the fullest use of it.

            Yet after a fortnight I had to own that I did not know much more about Mrs. Ingram than when I had first seen her. She was younger than I had thought, probably not over thirty-two or three; she was wealthy; she was shy; she came from California, or at any rate had lived there. For the last two years or more she appeared to have travelled, encircling the globe, and making long stays in places as far apart as Ceylon, Teneriffe, Rio and Cairo. She seemed, on the whole, to have enjoyed these wanderings. She asked me many questions about the countries she had visited, and I saw that she belonged to the class of intelligent but untaught travellers who can learn more by verbal explanations than from books. Unprepared as she was for the sights awaiting her, she had necessarily observed little, and understood less; but she had been struck by the more conspicuous features of the journey, and the Taj, the Parthenon and the Pyramids had not escaped her. On the subject of her travels she was at least superficially communicative; and as she never alluded to husband or child, or to any other friend or relative, I was driven to conclude that Miss Wilpert had been her only companion. This deepened the mystery, and made me feel that I knew no more of her real self than on the day when I had first seen her; but, perhaps partly for that reason, I found her increasingly interesting. It was clear that she shrank from strangers, but I could not help seeing that with me she was happy and at ease, and as ready as I was to profit by our opportunities of being together. It was only when Miss Wilpert appeared that her old shyness returned, and I suspected that she was reluctant to let her companion see what good friends we had become.

            I had put my indiscreet question about Miss Wilpert somewhat abruptly, in the hope of startling Mrs. Ingram out of her usual reserve; and I saw by the quick rise of colour under her pale skin that I had nearly succeeded. But after a moment she replied, with a smile: “I can’t believe Cassie ever said anything so silly.”

            “You can’t? Then I wish you’d ask her; and if it was just an invention of that head-waiter’s I’ll make him give me back my table before he’s a day older.”

            Mrs. Ingram still smiled. “I hope you won’t make a fuss about such a trifle. Perhaps Cassie did say something foolish. She’s not used to travelling, and sometimes takes odd notions.”

            The ambiguity of the answer was obviously meant to warn me off; but having risked one question I was determined to risk another. “Miss Wilpert’s a very old friend, I suppose?”

            “Yes; very,” said Mrs. Ingram non-committally.

            “And was she always with you when you were at home?”

            My question seemed to find her unprepared. “At home—?”

            “I mean, where you lived. California, wasn’t it?”

            She looked relieved. “Oh, yes; Cassie Wilpert was with me in California.”

            “But there she must have had to associate with her compatriots?”

            “Yes; that’s one reason why she was so glad when I decided to travel,” said Mrs. Ingram with a faint touch of irony, and then added: “Poor Cassie was very unhappy at one time; there were people who were unkind to her. That accounts for her prejudices, I suppose.”

            “I’m sorry I’m one of them. What can I do to make up to her?”

            I fancied I saw a slight look of alarm in Mrs.