"I did not know that your mail came to the club," said Merrihew.
"It doesn't. Only rarely a letter drifts this way."
"Well, go on and read it; don't let me keep you from it. Some charmer, I'll wager. Here I pour all my adventures into your ear, and I on my side never so much as get a hint of yours. Go on, read it."
"Adventures, fiddlesticks! The letter can wait. It is probably a bill."
"A bill in a fashionable envelope like that?"
Hillard only smiled, tipped the cradle and refilled Merrihew's glass with some excellent Romanee Conti. "When does Kitty sail?" he asked, after a while of silence.
"A week from this Saturday, February second. What the deuce did you bring up that for? I've been trying to forget it."
"Where do they land?"
"Naples. They open in Rome the first week in March. All the arrangements and bookings seem to be complete. This is mighty good Burgundy, Jack. I don't see where you pick it up." After coffee Merrihew pushed back his chair. "I'll reserve a table in the billiard-room while you read your letter."
"I'll be with you shortly," gratefully.