Part 16 (1/2)
Mr. Sabin smiled very faintly. His face betrayed no more than a natural and polite interest. There was nothing to indicate the fact that his heart was beating like the heart of a young man, that the blood was rus.h.i.+ng hot through his veins.
”Yes,” he said, ”I know her very well. Is she in London?”
Mr. Brott hesitated. He seemed a little uncertain how to continue.
”To tell you the truth,” he said, ”I believe that she has reasons for desiring her present whereabouts to remain unknown. I should perhaps not have mentioned her name at all. It was, I fancy, indiscreet of me. The coincidence of hearing you mention the name of the place where I believe she resided surprised my question. With your permission we will abandon the subject.”
”You disappoint me,” Mr. Sabin said quietly. ”It would have given me much pleasure to have resumed my acquaintance with the lady in question.”
”You will, without doubt, have an opportunity,” Mr. Brott said, glancing at his watch and suddenly rising. ”Dear me, how the time goes.”
He rose to his feet. Mr. Sabin also rose.
”Must I understand,” he said in a low tone, ”that you are not at liberty to give me Mrs. Peterson's address?”
”I am not at liberty even,” Mr. Brott answered, with a frown, ”to mention her name. It will give me great pleasure, Duke, to better my acquaintance with you. Will you dine with me at the House of Commons one night next week?”
”I shall be charmed,” Mr. Sabin answered. ”My address for the next few days is at the Carlton. I am staying there under my family name of Sabin--Mr. Sabin. It is a fancy of mine--it has been ever since I became an alien--to use my t.i.tle as little as possible.”
Mr. Brott looked for a moment puzzled.
”Your pseudonym,” he remarked thoughtfully, ”seems very familiar to me.”
Mr. Sabin shrugged his shoulders.
”It is a family name,” he remarked, ”but I flattered myself that it was at least uncommon.”
”Fancy, no doubt,” Mr. Brott remarked, turning to make his adieux to his hostess.
Mr. Sabin joined a fresh group of idlers under the palms. Mr. Brott lingered over his farewells.
”Your UNCLE, Lady Camperdown,” he said, ”is delightful. I enjoy meeting new types, and he represents to me most perfectly the old order of French aristocracy.”
”I am glad,” Helene said, ”that you found him interesting. I felt sure you would. In fact, I asked him especially to meet you.”
”You are the most thoughtful of hostesses,” he a.s.sured her. ”By the bye, your UNCLE has just told me the name by which he is known at the hotel.
Mr. Sabin! Sabin! It recalls something to my mind. I cannot exactly remember what.”
She smiled upon him. People generally forgot things when Helene smiled.
”It is an odd fancy of his to like his t.i.tle so little,” she remarked.
”At heart no one is prouder of their family and antecedents. I have heard him say, though, that an exile had better leave behind him even his name.”
”Sabin!” Mr. Brott repeated. ”Sabin!”
”It is an old family name,” she murmured.
His face suddenly cleared. She knew that he had remembered. But he took his leave with no further reference to it.