Gora watched him from her ottoman, where she sat stark upright, as usual, and smoking calmly. But her cold gray eyes were softer than usual. She knew exactly how he felt and rejoiced with him, but her expression in the long silence grew more and more thoughtful. Finally she threw away her cigarette and said abruptly:
"Clavey."
"Yes, Gora." He had been wandering about the room, but he halted in front of her, smiling.
She smiled also. "You do look so happy. But you're such a mercurial creature that you'll probably wake up tomorrow morning with your soul steeped in indigo."
"Oh, no, I won't. It isn't as if I had nothing else in my life." Gora alone knew of his engagement to Mary Zattiany.
"That is it. I want to say something. I know you'll be angry with me, but just remember that I am not speaking as a friend, merely as an artist."
"What are you driving at?" Some of the exultation faded from Clavering's face.
"This. I no longer want you to marry Madame Zattiany. She's served her purpose."
Clavering stared, then laughed. "Little you know about it."
"I know more about it than you think. Remember it is my business to know people's mental insides down to the roots——"