“My beloved—I go. Your word is law! Sir—cousin—Bobbie, forgive me.”
Bobbie forced a smile of friendliness. His gentle cousin thought he was ill.
Mr. Dempsi went singing up the stairs: Donna e mobile was the song. He sang it happily and flatly, as though his throat rebelled against this rejoicing in the fickleness of woman.
“Suffering cats!” said Bobbie, awe-stricken. “Is that the First Love?”
She nodded.
“And is that his style of conversation—a bit wearing, isn’t it?”
“Wearing? Bobbie, he’s just like that to every man who looks at me! He’s changed in appearance—I suppose six years makes an awful difference. I used to think there was room for nothing but improvement, for he was only a boy then. But, oh, Bobbie, he’s worse! He wanted to strangle the waiter at the Ritz-Carlton at lunch because he was rather good-looking and had a sense of humour—he smiled when I made a feeble joke. And, Bobbie, Double Dan——”
She saw that Bobbie knew, and sighed gratefully. Bobbie was to be a tower of strength: she had guessed that all along.
“He’s here,” said the young man.