They sat down on either side of the fireplace in the lofty apartment, with its sombre hangings of wine-coloured brocade and thick, muffling rugs, and for upwards of three-quarters of an hour Corthell interested her with his description of his life in the cathedral towns of northern Italy. But at the end of that time dinner was announced.

“Has Mr. Jadwin come in yet?” Laura asked of the servant.

“No, madam.”

She bit her lip in vexation.

“I can’t imagine what can keep Curtis so late,” she murmured. “Well,” she added, at the end of her resources, “we must make the best of it. I think we will go in, Mr. Corthell, without waiting. Curtis must be here soon now.”