“Of course not,” with more asperity than the innocent questions seemed to justify. “He will never dream of our being in Radnor. You know we had been some weeks at the hotel in Los Angeles when he came, and for all he knew we might have been going to spend the rest of our days there. Probably he has ceased to remember that we exist—a man would find his affaires du cœur rather clumsy baggage in the wilds of Africa!”
“If he carried them all, yes. One or two might be consoling,” suggested Hester airily.
“Oh! bother Jules Grémond! I don’t want to think of him! He belongs to a life that is past!”
“Well, it is queer, anyway,” insisted Hester, “and I want to scream with laughter when I think of a divinity like you—didn’t he call you a divinity, Julie?—coming down from your pedestal to cater for his serene highness, the one and only Jules Grémond!”
There was something so inimitable about Hester’s manner coupled with the graphic picture she drew that Julie went off into a paroxysm of laughter that ended in hysterical sobbing which Hester put an end to by shaking her vigorously.
“You are so funny,” said Julie faintly, wiping her eyes. “You are almost as funny as the situation!” and then she buried her face in Hester’s arm and laughed again.
“Shut up!” said Hester with more force than elegance for she was getting frightened at Julie’s unusual behavior. “Stop this minute or you’ll go all to pieces and besides, I’ve an awful confession to make!”
“Oh! not anything more,” protested Julie, leaning back exhausted. “My dear, don’t! Another shock will certainly be the death of me!” piteously.
“Well I’ll die if I don’t get it off my conscience, so there you are!” cried Hester, thumping down in Julie’s lap and beginning to finger the hair that strayed in little curls about her temples.
“Go on,” resignedly from Julie.