Laurie looked at her.
"Do you mean," he asked crisply, "that that chap across the room is following you around?"
She looked at him, as if abruptly recalled to the fact of his presence. Her eyes dropped.
"Yes," she muttered, dully. "I may escape him for a time, but he always learns where I am. He will catch me when he chooses, and roll me about under his paws for a while, and then—perhaps—let me go again."
"That sounds like a certain phase of domestic life," commented Laurie. "Is he by any chance your husband?"
Her eyes held a rising anger.
"He is not," she said. "I am not married."
Laurie dropped his dead cigarette into the ash tray, and rose with a sigh.
"It's all very confusing," he admitted, "and a digression from the main issue. But I'm afraid I shall have to go to the exertion of reasoning with him."
She started up, but before she could protest or restrain him, he had left her and crossed the room to the stranger's table.