"That is the eleventh time she has started proceedings, isn't it?" said I.
"Constant in inconstancy!" murmured Mount.
"Miss Maddox's emotions are like soap-bubbles," I said.
"Do you think women are fickle?" Irma asked with a direct look in which there was something very painful.
I, thinking of poor Roland agonizing over his shorthand book until after midnight every night, could not help but shrug slightly.
"If they are it's the men's fault!" said Irma bitterly. "The men I have known would make constancy in women an indication of imbecility!"
So there we were again!
"Funny, isn't it," drawled Mount, "how the sexes have no use for each other, yet love stones still sell."
We laughed again. You had to admit Mount was a good man at a dinner table.
I excused myself early on the plea of business, and went direct to Roland. Here I find I am a little ahead of my story, for I have not told you of his present circumstances.