'To breakfast! Never! You are dreaming!' She paused an instant. 'Yes, I

believe I did. What difference does it make? Go and get your breakfast

somewhere else!' 'Oh no!' protested the visitor, who had been examining Margaret's face

and figure. 'I can wait any length of time, but I shall keep you to

your bargain, dear lady.' 'You are detestable! Well, then you must go and look out of the window

while I get down.' 'With pleasure,' Logotheti answered, meaning exactly what he said, and

turning his back after a deliberate look at Margaret.

Madame Bonanni worked herself to the edge of the divan, with a curious

sidelong movement, got one of her feet upon the stool and slipped down,

till she stood on the floor. Then she gathered the folds of her

bathing-gown to her and ran to the door with astonishing agility, for

so large a person.

Margaret was not sure what she should do, and began to follow her,

hoping to exchange a few words with her before going away. At the door,

Madame Bonanni suddenly draped herself in the dark velvet curtain,

stuck her head out and looked back.

'Of course you will stay to breakfast, my dear!' she called out,

'Logotheti! I present you to Miss--Miss--oh, the name doesn't matter! I

present you!' 'I'm afraid I cannot----' Margaret began to say, not knowing how long

she might be left alone with Logotheti.

But Madame Bonanni had already unfurled the curtain and fled. Logotheti

bowed gravely to Margaret, cleared the things off one of the chairs and

offered it to her. His manner was as respectful with her as it had been

familiar with the singer, and she felt at once that he understood her

position.

'Thank you,' she said quietly, as she seated herself.

He cleared another chair and sat down at a little distance. She glanced

at him furtively and saw that he was a very dark man of rather long

features; that his eyes were almond-shaped, like those of many

orientals; that he had a heavy jaw and a large mouth with lips that

were broad rather than thick, and hardly at all concealed by a small

black moustache which was trained to lie very flat to his face, and

turned up at the ends; that his short hair was worn brush fashion,

without a parting; that he had olive brown hands with strong fingers,

on one of which he wore an enormous turquoise in a ring; that his

clothes were evidently the result of English workmanship misguided by a

very un-English taste; and finally that he was well-built and looked

strong. She wondered very much what his nationality might be, for his

accent had told her that he was not French.




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