“Don’t talk about it!” she begged sharply. “It makes me feel the meanest creature that ever crawled. I can’t help feeling, too, that Mr. Ruff will think me a wretch—quite the gentleman he’s been all the time! I never knew any one half so nice!”
John Dory set down his empty glass.
“I wonder,” he said, looking at her thoughtfully, “what made him take such a fancy to you! Rather sudden, wasn’t it, eh?”
Maud tossed her head.
“I don’t see anything so wonderful about that,” she declared.
“Listen to me, Maud,” her husband said, rising to his feet. “You aren’t a fool—not quite. You’ve spent some time with Peter Ruff. How much—think carefully—how much does he remind you of Spencer Fitzgerald?”
“Not at all,” she answered promptly. “Why, he is years older, and though Spencer was quite the gentleman, there’s something about Mr. Ruff, and the way he dresses and knows his way about—well, you can tell he’s been a gentleman all his life.”
John Dory’s face fell.
“Think again,” he said.
She shook her head.