"Tell me how—where you first met her."
"It was at the ambassador's ball and mark you, Perry, there were some uncommonly fine women there, though none of 'em, no, damme, not one to compare with my Loveliness, of course—"
"You mean Barbara?"
"Of course. Well, my boy, we'd made our bow and here was Loveliness worrying in her pretty fashion because my cravat had shifted or some such, and here was I pulling at the thing and saying, 'Yes, dear,' and making it worse when, as the poet says, 'amid this glittering throng of lovely women and gallant men' my charmed eye alighted upon a haughty beauty, a ravishing creature condescending to be worshipped by a crowd of fawning slaves, civilian, soldier and sailor of all stations and ranks, from purple-faced admirals and general officers to pink, downy-whiskered subalterns. 'Egad, Loveliness,' says I, jerking at my cravat, 'what asinine fools brave men and gallant gentlemen can make of themselves for lovely woman—look yonder!' 'Where?' says she. 'There!' says I, 'the dark, dazzling beauty yonder!' So Loveliness looks, and at that very moment Beauty breaks from the abject circle of her fawning slaves and comes running. 'Diana!' cries Loveliness. 'Barbara!' cries Beauty, and they are in each other's arms—and there you are, Perry. Astonishing how they love each other. So when I left to attend this birthday of yours, Loveliness must stay with her Diana—I miss her most damnably!"
"Has she so many admirers?" I sighed.
"Hordes of 'em, Perry! Troops, squadrons, regiments, begad! So has my
Loveliness, for that matter."
"And are you never jealous?"
"Devil a bit, dear fellow. Though," said he, slowly clenching his right hand into a powerful fist and scowling down at it, "given the occasion—I could be, Perry, y-e-s, madly, brutally—I could kill—do murder, I believe. Oh, pshaw! My Barbara is so sweet, so purely a thing of heaven that sometimes I—I hate myself for not having been better—more worthy. Women are so infinitely better than ourselves, or so infinitely—worse. And she sent you a letter—here it is!"
"A letter? Diana? Where?"
"A snack of ham or beef first, Perry, love letters don't go over-well on empty stomachs—" But here I caught the letter from him and sat with it in fingers that shook a little, staring at the superscription.