"I understand you; I thank you, M. Nash. I am now worse off than you were, as they say in the fairy tales, once upon a time."
"My dear Gerbert," blundered Mr. Kennard, "if you had only hinted—if you had only told me"
He got no further. M. Gerbert continued—after a fashion of his own.
"If I had only told you what? You see I still have clothes—I have a decent coat—it is true I find my shoes begin to want a little careful touching—and I do not care to allow my shirt to become too prominent—but so long as I could bear myself with decency, what was there then I should have told you? You must forgive my saying that I should have told you nothing now, if you had not, in a measure, forced me to confession. But I seem to be lacking in hospitality. I have often been to your apartments. It is the first time you have come to mine. I beg of you to make yourselves entirely at your ease."
Mr. Kennard was already tousling his hair, as was his habit when disturbed.
"And—and Madame Gerbert?"
"My wife is gone."
"Gone, Gerbert! what do you mean?"
"She went from me this morning—that is what I mean."
"But have you no notion where she's gone to?"
"How should I have a notion? She was free to go where she chose—as free as air."
"Oughtn't you to make inquiries?"
"To serve what purpose? I know little, it is true, but what I know is more than enough. I know that
