"I'm a practical person," she replied with a laugh.

Presently she said, "Tell me more about your illness--or rather your recovery. I know nothing except that you had a successful operation which all the London surgeons said was impossible. Who nursed you?"

"I had a trained nurse," said I.

"Wasn't Madame Brandt with you?"

"Yes," said I. "She was very good to me. In fact, I think I owe her my life."

Hitherto the delicacy of the situation had caused me to refer to Lola no more than was necessary, and in my narrative I had purposely left her vague.

"That's a great debt," said Eleanor.

"It is, indeed."

"You're not the man to leave such a debt unpaid?"

"I try to repay it by giving Madame Brandt my devoted friendship."

Her eyes never wavered as they held mine.

"That's one of the things I wanted to know. Tell me something about her."

I felt some surprise, as Eleanor was of a nature too proud for curiosity.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because she interests me intensely. Is she young?"

"About thirty-two."

"Good-looking?"

"She is a woman of remarkable personality."

"Describe her."

I tried, stumbled, and halted. The effort evoked in my mind a picture of Lola lithe, seductive, exotic, with gold flecks in her dusky, melting eyes, with strong shapely arms that had as yet only held me motherwise, with her pantherine suggestion of tremendous strength in languorous repose, with her lazy gestures and parted lips showing the wonderful white even teeth, with all her fascination and charm--a picture of Lola such as I had not seen since my emergence from the Valley--a picture of Lola, generous, tender, wistful, strong, yielding, fragrant, lovable, desirable, amorous--a picture of Lola which I could not put before this other woman equally brave and straight, who looked at me composedly out of her calm, blue eyes.

My description resolved itself into a loutish catalogue.

"It is not painful to you to talk of her, Simon?"

"Not at all. There are not many great-hearted women going about. It is my privilege to know two."

"Am I the other?"

"Who else?"

"I'm glad you have the courage to cla.s.s Madame Brandt and myself together."

"Why?" I asked.

"It proves beyond a doubt that you are honest with me. Now tell me about a few externals--things that don't matter--but help one to form an impression. Is she educated?"

"From books, no; from observation, yes."

"Her manners?"

"Observation had educated them."

"Accent?"

"She is sufficiently polyglot to have none."

"She dresses and talks and behaves generally like a lady?"

"She does," said I.

"In what way then does she differ from the women of our cla.s.s?"

"She is less schooled, less reticent, franker, more natural. What is on her tongue to say, she says."

"Temper?"

"I have never heard her say an angry word to or of a human creature. She has queer delicacies of feeling. For instance----"

I told her of Anastasius Papadopoulos's tawdry, gimcrack presents which Lola has suffered to remain in her drawing-room so as not to hurt the poor little wretch.

"That's very touching. Where does she live?"

"She has a flat in Cadogan Gardens."

"Is she in London now?"

"Yes."

"I should like very much to know her," she said calmly.

I vow and declare again that the more straightforward and open-eyed, the less subtle, temperamental, and neurotic are women, the more are they baffling. I had wondered for some time whither the catechism tended, and now, with a sudden jerk, it stopped short at this most unexpected terminus. It was startling. I rose and mechanically placed my empty tea-cup on the tray by her side.

"The wish, my dear Eleanor," said I, quite formally, "does great credit to your heart."

There was a short pause, marking an automatic close of the subject.

Deeply as I admired both women, I shrank from the idea of their meeting.

It seemed curiously indelicate, in view both of my former engagement to Eleanor and of Lola's frank avowal of her feelings towards me before what I shall always regard as my death. It is true that we had never alluded to it since my resurrection; but what of that? Lola's feelings, I was sure, remained unaltered. It also flashed on me that, with all the goodwill in the world, Eleanor would not understand Lola. An interview would develop into a duel. I pictured it for a second, and my sudden fierce partisanship for Lola staggered me. Decidedly an acquaintance between these two was preposterous.

The silence was definite enough to mark a period, but not long enough to cause embarra.s.sment. Eleanor commented on my present employment. I must find it good to get back to politics.