Sir Donald expanded his nostrils.
"London, London!" he said. "I should know it if I were blind."
"Yes. The London smell is not to be confused with the smell of any other
place. You have been back a good while, I believe?"
"Three years. I am laid on the London shelf now."
"You have had a long life of work--interesting work."
"Yes. Diplomacy has interesting moments. I have seen many countries. I
have been transferred from Copenhagen to Teheran, visited the Sultan of
Morocco at Fez, and--" he stopped. After a pause he added: "And now I sit
in London clubs and look out of bay windows."
They walked on slowly.
"Have you known our hostess of to-night long?" Sir Donald asked
presently.
"A good while--quite a good while. But I'm very much away at Rome now.
Since I have been there she has married."
"I have only met her to speak to once before to-night, though I have seen
her about very often and heard her sing."
"Ah!"
"To me she is an enigma," Sir Donald continued with some hesitation. "I
cannot make her out at all."
Robin Pierce smiled in the dark and thrust his hands deep down in the
pockets of his overcoat.
"I don't know," Sir Donald resumed, after a slight pause, "I don't know
what is your--whether you care much for beauty in its innumerable forms.
Many young men don't, I believe."
"I do," said Robin. "My mother is an Italian, you know, and not an
Italian Philistine.
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