“I wonder where she’s staying,” he asked, half to himself, and a contemptuous little smile curled Maxell’s lips.
“Are you going to rescue her from her infamous surroundings?” he asked, and Cartwright snapped round on him.
“I wish to heaven you wouldn’t be sarcastic, Maxell. That’s twice this evening——”
“Sorry,” said the other, snicking off the ash of his cigar. “I am in a cynical mood to-night.”
He raised his hands to applaud the girl as she bowed herself from the stage, and glanced round the house. Three boxes away was a small party of men, whom he judged were the sons of prosperous members of the Spanish colony. Their fingers flashed with diamonds, their cigarettes burnt from jewelled holders. Cartwright followed the direction of the other’s eyes.
“She’s made a hit, that Miss O’Grady,” he said. “These fellows will be tumbling over one another to present her with verbal bouquets. I wonder where she lives!” he said again.
Presently the young men rose in a body and left the box, and Cartwright grinned.
“Do you mind hanging on here whilst I go outside?”
“Not a bit,” said the other. “Where are you off to? To find out where she lives?”
“There you go again,” grumbled Cartwright. “I think Tangier makes you liverish.”