“It’s rather daring, I flatter myself,” said Mr. Myre. “We lack an English Casanova.”
Noll rose from his seat; flung down the volume:
“Faugh!” said he; and kicked it into the street, took up his cigarette from the table, flicked the ash from it, and left the place.
Myre’s face was livid with anger.
The Honourable Rupert Greppel said:
“There’ll be blood spilt over this.”
Gaston Latour, who sat at a table near by, laughed immoderately.
The proceedings for divorce were begun in the French Courts that day. The silent woman with the green eyes was swift when she decided.
She took her freedom.
The book had a considerable vogue.