“Whose Dmitri? another one of your fiancés?”
“Oh, dear no. He’s a cross Russian poodle that was given me last Christmas. When you try to be nice to him he bites. I don’t know what makes me think of him just now.”
Rosina laughed, and held her hand out lovingly towards the pretty girl at her feet.
“Forgive me, Molly. I really didn’t mean to be vexed. Let us talk of something pleasant and leave my latest to sleep in peace at the Victoria.”
“Are you sure that he’s at the Victoria?”
“Not at all; he may have moved to this hotel, or returned to Lucerne.”
“I should think so, indeed.”
“But never mind.”
Molly took her knees into the embrace of her clasped hands.
“I wonder if you ever will marry again,” she murmured curiously.