“It is quite one to me,” he said indifferently; “you know that I have said before that I am not of a tempérament jaloux.”
Then he got up and walked about the room, taking a cigar from his pocket and holding it unlighted in his mouth.
“May I smoke here?” he asked.
“I don’t care if you do.”
He returned suddenly to his chair, laid the cigar on the table, and took her hand again.
“Your cousin is so nice,” he told her, as if the recollection of Jack’s charms had necessitated his at once expressing his feelings towards Jack’s cousin.
“When is he coming back?” she asked.
“In one week.”
“When does he sail? Do you know?”
“On the nineteenth day, from Genoa.”