“Dolly,” he said, “do I look as if something tremendous had just happened?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve invented a submarine, or something?”
“No, this is something of a more personal nature.”
“Oh, Max, you’ve fallen in love?”
A waiter rushing up with rolls and butter suggested that Madame probably preferred fresh butter to salted, before Riatt answered: “No, that is just what I haven’t done—and that’s the secret, Dolly. I’m not a bit in love, but I am engaged to be married.”
“Max! But why if—”
“I’ll tell you on the second of March. It’s a good story. You’ll enjoy it, but for the present, my dear, you must just accept the fact that I am engaged, that I am neither wildly elated nor unduly depressed.”
Miss Lane had grown extremely serious. “Who is she?” she asked.
“Her name is Christine Fenimer.”
“I’ve seen her name in the papers.”