"All women are not of your opinion. I remember once hearing a woman say, had the author still lived, she would have pilgrimaged barefoot to see him."
"Oh, I dare say. There are women enough of that kind."
"Fools, of course?"
"Extravagant; unbalanced. The class of person that suffers from a diseased temperament.—But men can make fools of themselves, too. There are specimens enough here to start a museum with."
"Of which you, as NORMALMENSCH, could be showman."
Madeleine pushed her chair back towards the head of the sofa, so that she came to sit out of the range of Krafft's eyes.
"Talking of fools," she said slowly, "have you seen anything of Maurice Guest lately?"
Krafft lowered a spike of ash into the tray. "I have not."
"Yes; I heard he had got into a different hour," she said disconnectedly. As, however, Krafft remained impassive, she took the leap. "Is there—can nothing be done for him, Heinz?"
Here Krafft did just what she had expected him to do: rose on his elbow, and turned to look at her. But her face was inscrutable.