"Yes, I was speaking of Jesson," she continued, lazily. "As you remark—none too politely, by-the-bye—he has decided to do without my help. I have no objection to that. I admire independence in a man. Yet when he spoke to me from his point of view I am afraid that I was rude. We parted, at any rate, abruptly. I have been thinking it over and I am sorry for it. I should like to let him know that on the whole I approve of his intention."
"Write and tell him to come and see you then," Drexley said, gruffly.
"He can't refuse—poor devil."
The beautifully-shaped eyebrows of the Countess de Reuss were a trifle uplifted. Yet she smiled faintly.
"No," she said, "he could not refuse. But it is not quite what I want.
If I write to him he will imagine many things."
"What do you want me to do?" he asked brusquely.
"You see him often at the club?"
"Yes."
"Go there to-night. Say that we have spoken of him; hint that this absolute withdrawal from my house must appear ungrateful—has seemed so to me. I shall be at home alone a week to-night. Do you understand?"
"I understand, at least, that I am not to come and see you a week to-night," he answered with a harsh laugh.
"That is quite true, my friend," she said, "but what of it? You have no special claim, have you, to monopolise my society?—you nor any man. You are all my friends."