"Is that a discovery?" asked Lorraine.
"Not at all," retorted Devereux. "It's a self-evident fact, that is why I told you. Understand?"
"Have another high-ball?" laughed Lorraine.
"Yes, thank you!... Harry," said he, as he poured the Scotch and slowly shot in the carbonated water, "it may be impertinent, it is damned impertinent, but you'll not misunderstand me—sometimes a friend's impertinence is a proof of his friendship.—What I want to say, old man, is this:" He pushed back his glass and looked at the other thoughtfully a moment. "Why don't you make it up with Stephanie?"
"For the simplest of reasons, Devereux," Lorraine responded. "She won't make it up."
"She won't make it up!" Warwick marvelled. "Have you tried her?"
Lorraine nodded.
"Before my accident—and later at the Hospital," he said. "It was respectfully declined."
"She surely doesn't mean it! She would be a—it would be most extraordinary."