"Nothing does last for ever," said Aldo sententiously, seated before his desk.
"Then I shall send for you to come to the house again. Meanwhile, you might hang round a little in a general way," said Mrs. Van Osten. "You can send me flowers if you like. See that they are expensive ones. But don't come over often. If he once kicks you out, it will make everything impossible."
"Yes," said Aldo.
"Ah!" sighed Mrs. Van Osten; "why are such things necessary. Why are men such beasts?"
After a short pause Aldo spoke respectfully in a subdued voice: "May I ask who she is?"
"You are impertinent," said Mrs. Van Osten, "but I may as well tell you. Everyone knows. It is Madeline Archer, that dancing minx. She has made half the wives in New York miserable!"
Aldo made a little sympathizing, clucking sound with his tongue. Meanwhile his thoughts were quick and definite.
"If," he said, as she rose to go, "any friend of yours, one of the wives you have just mentioned, wanted—er—would like—er—thought that I could assist...."
"Oh!" cried Mrs. Van Osten, clasping her hands with peals of laughter, "you are a daisy! Oh, you take the pumpkin-pie! Upon my word! You are the greatest ever!" And she laughed and laughed, rocking to and fro.
Aldo laughed too, glad to think he was so funny.