"My dear Bob!" exclaimed Miss Fitzgerald, with a horror that was meant to be assumed, but nevertheless had a touch of reality about it. "My dear Bob! I knew you were bad, but don't tell me you're as bad as all that!"
"I'm afraid so," he replied. Then turning to Stanley, continued, "I suppose you've not the misfortune to be married?"
"I'm a single man," replied the Secretary, who, under the circumstances, felt that a mere statement of fact was infinitely better than an expressed opinion.
"Then of course you can't conceive the pleasures of anticipation which the prospect of the divorce court arouses in the mind of a husband."
"I can imagine that the point of view would largely depend on his own status in the case."
"You don't mean to tell me, Bob," cried Miss Fitzgerald, "that she's been foolish enough——!"
"Oh, I'm the accused in the present indictment. But, fortunately for me, women are by nature inconsistent."
"Why do you say that?" she asked.
"Why? Because, having run away from my house and secured legal assistance in London to bring suit against me—well, on statutory grounds, she has, as a proof of her injuries, seen fit to take up her residence at the bachelor quarters of her Secretary of Legation."
"What! Is she there now?" cried Miss Fitzgerald, her eyes flashing, as she turned them full on Stanley.