He parted from his companion by a grotesque little statue under the lime-trees representing the debonair ancestor of the Lovelaces whose name, though intimately associated with Ramsgard, had slipped into something legendary and remote. Selena Gault gave him her hand with a stately inclination of her unlovely head.

“You’ll come in and see me and my cats before long and tell me your impressions of all those people?”

“I certainly will, Miss Gault,” he answered. “You’ve been very good to me.”

“Tut, tut, boy! Good is not the word! When I come to think of it, standing like that with your hat off, you have a kind of look⁠—”

“That’s under your influence, Miss Gault,” he hurriedly said; and they took their separate ways.