"Very much," I answered.
"About what?" she inquired, breaking a square of toast.
"About the unfortunate position of a young gentleman who has just parted company with thirty thousand dollars!"
She bent her head, with its loose and heavy coils of dark hair, and glanced at my card before she spoke again.
"And what could I possibly do for him?"
There was something neither soothing nor encouraging in her unruffled calmness. But I did not intend to be disarmed by any theatrical parade of tranquillity.
"You might," I suggested, "return the thirty thousand."
There was more languor than active challenge in her glance as she turned and looked at me.
"And I don't think I even know who you are," she murmured.
"But I happen to know just who you are," was my prompt and none too gentle rejoinder.