"Nonsense! The shoe is on the other foot. You have made half my plays what they are to-day." He rang and ordered some coffee.
She dropped into his desk-chair and propped her chin in her palms, viewing him through half-closed, speculative eyes.
"We've had some jolly larks together," he said. "I shall miss you; how much I shall know only when you are gone. Is he good-looking?"
"Very. He is tall and straight, with a manly face, fine eyes, and a good nose. You know that I'm always particular about a man's nose."
"And young, of course?" not without some feeling of jealousy.
"And young."
"Tell me all about him," drawing up a chair and facing her.
"He is a lucky chap," he summed up when she had done.
"That remains to be seen," lightly. "I may prove the worst wife possible. Perhaps, when I have burned my bridges, I shall be mad for the very publicity I'm trying to escape. Women are like extinct volcanos; they are most to be dreaded when written perfectly harmless."
Warrington shook his head and laughed. Here the coffee came in. He dismissed his man, and poured the nectar himself.