CHAPTER XI 

A WORD OF WARNING 

"In the most unlikely places!" Duncombe murmured to himself as he bowed to the Frenchman, whose name his friend had mentioned. "I am very glad to meet you again, Monsieur le Baron!" he said, aloud. 

They were in the covered garden at the Ritz. Duncombe had accepted the pressing invitation of an old college friend, whom he had met on the boulevards to drop in and be introduced to his wife. And the third at the tea-table was Monsieur Louis, known in society apparently as Monsieur le Baron de Seurs. 

Lady Hadley, his friend's wife, smiled languidly upon them both. She was a frail pink and white little woman, with the reputation of a beauty to sustain, wherein lay her life's work. 

"You two know one another, of course!" she remarked. "Paris is no larger than London, after all." 

"Sir George and I have met once at least," the Baron said, smiling. "I am glad that he does me the honor of remembering the occasion." 

Duncombe felt himself no match for his companion with the foils. He let the conversation drift, and waited for his opportunity. Presently some more guests arrived, and Duncombe drew his host on one side. 

"Hadley," he said, "how long have you known the Baron?" 

"Met him at Dorset House about two years ago, I think," Hadley answered. "He was doing a round of country-houses. I'm not sure that he didn't stay at Sandringham. One of the real old French families, you know, De Seurs." 
What was his wife's name?
Lady Hadley, his friend's wife,