'Oh, don't you know him by sight? He is rather a cadaverous-looking man, with six or seven mouse-coloured hairs on his chin. He looks as if he could ride in the air if he had the proper sort of broomstick. He never opens his lips, unless you make a mistake about figures. No, he isn't amusing; but nothing of that kind excuses a woman in such conduct. You may congratulate yourself, my dear Ted——'
Stella rose with a bored expression. 'Good-night, mes amis,' she said, kissing the tips of her gloved hand to both, and gliding out of the room before Ted could reach the door—a proceeding which need hardly be characterized as unsatisfactory to Ritchie.
'By Jove! I shall never be sure of Stella till we're safely and substantially married,' he said, looking after her with knitted brows.
'True; therefore let it be on the sixth of October, and sail on the sixteenth,' said Laurette decisively. 'You will reach Berlin before the end of November. To be done in that time? Certainly—after a courtship of five years.'
'It's more like ten,' broke in Ted; 'and we were engaged once before.'
'Yes, allude to that. No one can be surprised at your determination to make sure of the young lady now.'
'Allude to it? I don't know how to allude to things. I shall simply put it down in black and white. By the way, Larry, where is Tareling?'
Laurette murmured something in reply which was not audible; but as she offered no explanation, this did not much signify.
'He did his part very well,' said Ted, taking out his cigar-case preparatory to retiring. 'But do you suppose anyone would ever carry on in that way in real life—hocussing people and stealing letters?'
'Oh, people must put something into plays,' said Laurette contemptuously. As a matter of fact, her own little performance in that line had been infinitely superior, and she may have felt something of the scorn of a finished artist for a pretentious amateur. What did not occur to her was the irony which underlay her discussion of such a theme.