"I don't care a hang about the play, and—I—if I were you—"
He stopped abruptly, evidently embarrassed.
"Well?" asked Bijou, "what is it? You were going to say something."
"Yes," he stammered out, scarcely knowing how to put what he wanted to say. "I was going to remark that the design Jean has made for your—for Hebe's dress—"
"Well?"
"Well, it isn't the thing at all; there is too little of it."
"Too little of it? Nonsense!"
"It isn't nonsense. I say it is not the thing for a woman, and especially a young girl like you, to appear like that."
Bijou looked at Paul de Rueille with a bewildered expression on her face, and then burst out laughing.
"Oh, you are queer; you look exactly like a jealous husband."