"The devil there were!" cried Ian indignantly.
"Well, we all do that sort of thing. Their gossip worried me. I can't think how you managed not to fall in love with her. I'd have been in love with any woman under the circumstances, let alone her ... why, she's an angel, an..."
He broke off and fumed in silence for some time. Ian finished his lobster and attacked some cold meat. Roman looked as if he expected some remark, so he gave it, huskily:
"The obvious never happens."
"But Joe never came into my head. You could have knocked me down with a feather when she owned it."
"Me, too," admitted Ian, with more sincerity than he had yet commanded.
"I don't wonder. Of course, I'm a rip. Not worse than most of my fellows. I don't count you.... Can't make you out. You must be a fish." He cast a glance round the room, nodded to a couple of women, signed that he did not want them at his table, ordered a bottle of champagne to be taken over to them, shifted his chair so that his back was towards them, and went on:
"Who isn't? I've had my fling. I was quite ready to settle down. This sort of game disgusts me. I've had enough of it."
"I don't wonder."
"I suppose you people at Ruvno think Joe's a steady old horse," retorted Roman vehemently. "He enjoys life, too. Only he's more careful of appearance than I am."