*****
In a somewhat secluded corner of the Palm Court two young people were sitting. One of them, a young man of twenty-five was moodily stirring his spoon round and round in a tiny cup of tea. In his other hand he held the fingers of Miss Galva Baxendale.
"A year's a long time," he was saying.
"But you've only known me a few days, and——"
The Duc de Choleaux Lasuer turned to her.
"Nearly a fortnight, Galva, and in knowing you I have known myself. I've been a bit of a 'rotter' as you English call it, but things are going to be different now. I'll turn teetotaler—and learn a trade."
"And get to bed without the aid of two Bleriot lamps?"
The duke drove the spoon through the bottom of the dainty cup.
"Now come, Galva, that's hardly fair; they told me about it in the morning. I didn't know it was the talk of the hotel. You know when it happened?"
"No—why?"