Brett looked at me and wrinkled up the corners of her eyes.
“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t joke him.”
“See,” said the count. “You don’t joke him.”
“This is a hell of a dull talk,” Brett said. “How about some of that champagne?”
The count reached down and twirled the bottles in the shiny bucket. “It isn’t cold, yet. You’re always drinking, my dear. Why don’t you just talk?”
“I’ve talked too ruddy much. I’ve talked myself all out to Jake.”
“I should like to hear you really talk, my dear. When you talk to me you never finish your sentences at all.”
“Leave ’em for you to finish. Let any one finish them as they like.”
“It is a very interesting system,” the count reached down and gave the bottles a twirl. “Still I would like to hear you talk some time.”
“Isn’t he a fool?” Brett asked.