‘Poulos,’ I repeated thoughtfully. ‘Could it be Constantinopoulos?’ asked Hamlyn, with a nervous deference to my Hellenic learning. ‘It might conceivably,’ I hazarded, ‘be Constantine Stefanopoulos.’ ‘Then,’ said Hamlyn, ‘I shouldn’t wonder if it was. Anyhow, the less you see of him, Wheatley, the better. Take my word for that.’ ‘But,’ I objected—and I must admit that I have a habit of assuming that everybody follows my train of thought—‘it’s such a small place, that, if he goes, I shall be almost bound to meet him.’ ‘What’s such a small place?’ cried Beatrice with emphasised despair. ‘Why, Neopalia, of course,’ said I. [Pg 17] [Pg 17] ‘Why should anybody, except you, be so insane as to go there?’ she asked. ‘If he’s the man I think, he comes from there,’ I explained, as I rose for the last time; for I had been getting up to go and sitting down again several times. ‘Then he’ll think twice before he goes back,’ pronounced Beatrice decisively; she was irreconcilable about my poor island. Denny and I walked off together; as we went he observed: ‘I suppose that chap’s got no end of money?’ ‘Stefan——?’ I began. ‘No, no. Hang it, you’re as bad as Miss Hipgrave says. I mean Bennett Hamlyn.’ ‘Oh, yes, absolutely no end to it, I believe.’ Denny looked sagacious. ‘He’s very free with his dinners,’ he observed.