The two walked to a table at the further end of the room. It was a
specially reserved table, decorated with a mass of cut flowers and laid
with an assortment of cutlery and wine-glasses that suggested a banquet
rather than a meal. Waiters positively surrounded them as they took
their seats, and by extraordinary good fortune Severn's back was towards
me, while his companion was gazing straight in my direction across his
shoulder. She was certainly, as Bentley had assured me, a damned pretty
woman.... But, as I said before, the odd thing--yes, the _very_ odd
thing--was that she wasn't Helen.
We were, I think, as much relieved as surprised, for the moment. I
whispered across to Terry: "Severn has just come, but Helen isn't with
him. Can you see them? ... It's some woman whose face I don't seem to
recognize."
And he replied, quite calmly: "Neither do I. I can see them in the
mirror.... What language is it they're speaking?"
We tried to listen, but it wasn't very easy. Terry was certain it wasn't
German, and I thought it wasn't French or Italian or Spanish.
"Probably," I said, "it's Hungarian--though it's rather an odd language
for him to know. And the woman, maybe, is some Magyar countess, if there
are such things.... Severn _does_ know everybody everywhere, doesn't
he?"
For several minutes he didn't answer. Then, with a rather impatient
gesture, he said: "I think we've finished. Let's go for a walk before
bedtime." So we rose and walked to the doors, and by an especial miracle
on our behalf, Severn didn't look round. But the woman was watching us,
and with her creamy elbows on the table and a cocktail held languorously
to her lips, she looked as exotically lovely as any woman I had ever
seen. Severn had good taste.
We went out into the fragrant night-smelling streets, crossed the
suspension-bridge over the Danube, and climbed the hill into the old
town of Buda. Seeing Severn, after the prolonged tension of expecting to
see him, had been almost an anti-climax; indeed, when I thought about
it, a meeting with him wouldn't be at all a bad idea provided that Helen
wasn't with him. There was no doubt that the rest of our stay in Pesth
would be the brighter for his company and conversation. I almost hoped
we _should_ meet him. And as for the woman, perhaps she would be worth
meeting as well.... All these and other thoughts wandered idly through
my mind as we strolled about the quiet streets of Buda. It was a Hans
Andersen town, with fairy palaces and terraces and castles all hanging
precipitously over the moonlit ribbon of the Danube; and for some reason
the quiet loveliness of it made me think of Mizzi and of the almost
perfect ending there would be to all Terry's difficulties if only he
could grow to love her. I even said to him, as we were descending the
hill on the way back to the hotel: "Wouldn't it have been jolly if we
could have brought Mizzi here with us?"
He looked at me in a way that told me that his thoughts were very far
indeed away from Mizzi.
"She could never leave her hotel," he replied, and that, in his mind,
was the end of her.