"Quite sure," John laughed. "I suppose I am rather an idiot, but I am addicted to the vice of which you were speaking."
She nodded.
"I should imagine," she said, "that you were not an adept in the art of flirtation. Is it true that the woman is Louise Maurel?"
"Quite true," John replied.
"But don't you know—"
She broke off abruptly. She saw the face of the man by her side suddenly change, and her instinct warned her of the danger into which she was rushing.
"You surprise me very much," she said. "Louise Maurel is a very wonderful woman, but she seems to spend the whole of her time with my cousin, the prince."
"They are, without doubt, very friendly," John assented. "They have a good many interests in common, and the prince is connected with the syndicate which finances the theater. I do not imagine, however, that the prince wishes to marry her, or she him."
Lady Hilda began to laugh, softly, but as if genuinely amused. John sat and watched her in ominous silence. Not the flicker of a smile parted his set lips. His visitor, however, was undisturbed. She leaned over and patted his hand.
"Simple Simon!" she murmured, leaning a little toward him. "If you go looking like that, I shall pat your cheeks, too. You are really much too nice-looking to wear such thunderclouds!"