"I beg your pardon!" said Radwalader. "Do—by all means."
Mirabelle installed herself in an armchair, and her eyes were travelling to and fro about the room. Something in the curious confidence of her manner, a confidence that was almost insolence, turned Radwalader vaguely uneasy. He was standing with his back to her, lighting his inevitable cigarette. There was nothing in his expression to indicate enjoyment of that usually enjoyable operation.
"Any news?" he inquired, as the tobacco caught.
"Would you mind turning around?" asked Mirabelle sweetly. "I dislike talking to shoulders."
Radwalader wheeled upon her with a bow.
"You are irresistible, ma chère," said he. "After all, what use? I know you're clever, and you know I am. It's quite an imbecile proceeding for us to waste poses and by-plays upon each other. What is the news? Has the Great Inevitable happened?"
A tiny shadow crossed her eyes at the phrase, but she answered steadily.
"If by 'the Great Inevitable' you mean that the pleasure vehicle of Mr. Vane has no further accommodations for me as a passenger, then assuredly yes—the Great Inevitable has happened."
"Ah!" said Radwalader reflectively.