Norgate sat, the following afternoon, upon the leather-stuffed fender of a fashionable mixed bridge club in the neighbourhood of Berkeley Square, exchanging greetings with such of the members as were disposed to find time for social amenities.

A smartly-dressed woman of dark complexion and slightly foreign appearance, who had just cut out of a rubber, came over and seated herself by his side.

She took a cigarette from her case and accepted a match from Norgate.
"So you are really back again!" she murmured.

"It scarcely seems possible." "I am just beginning to realise it myself," he replied.

"You haven't altered, Bertha." "My dear man," she protested, "you did not expect me to age in a month, did you?
It can scarcely be more than that since you left for Berlin.