"I found your younger daughter charming," Wrayson said seriously, "but it was of your daughter Louise I was speaking. I thought that you would understand that."
"My daughter—whom you found—in Morris Barnes' flat—that night?"
"Exactly," Wrayson answered, "and my question is this. I cannot ask you why you and she parted, but at least you can tell me if you know of any reason why I should not ask her to be my wife."
The Colonel was silent.
"No!" he said at last, "there is no reason. But she would not consent. I am sure of that."
"We will let it go at that," Wrayson answered. "Come!"
He had chosen his moment for rising so as to pass down the room almost at the same time as Mr. Bentham and his strange companion. Prolific of smiles and somewhat elephantine graces, the lady's darkened eyes met Wrayson's boldly, and finding there some encouragement, she even favoured him with a backward glance. In the vestibule he slipped a half-crown into the attendant's hand.
"See if you can hear the address that lady gives her cabman," he whispered.
The boy nodded, and hurried out after them. Wrayson kept the Colonel back under the pretence of lighting a fresh cigar. When at last they strolled forward, they met the boy returning. He touched his hat to Wrayson.
"Alhambra, sir!" he said, quietly. "Gone off alone, sir, in a hansom. Gentleman walked."
The Colonel kept silence until they were in the street.
