"And there were others," she said in a reviving spasm—"dazzling positions! Treated them like dirt. She said, if she didn't care for a man, nothing would induce her. What can one do with such a romantic goose? Be grateful that you aren't a mother, Mr. Turquand."
"Some day," he opined, without returning thanks, "the young lady will be induced."
"Oh, and before long, if it comes to that!" She nodded confidentially. "To tell you the truth, I expect somebody here next week. A young man rolling in riches, and with expectations that—oh, tremendous! He raves about her. She has refused him—er—seven times—seven times. He wanted to commit suicide after her last rejection. But she respects him immensely. A noble fellow he is—oh, a most noble fellow! And when he asks her again, I rather fancy that pity'll make her accept him, after all."
"She must have felt it a grave responsibility," observed the journalist politely, "that a young man said he wanted to commit suicide on her account."
"That's just it, she feels it a terrible responsibility. Oh, she's not fond of him! Sorry for him, you understand—sorry. And, between ourselves, I'm sure I really don't know what to think would be for the best—I don't indeed! But I wouldn't mind wagering a pair of gloves, that, if she doesn't meet Mr. Right soon, she'll end by giving in and Mr. Somebody-else will have stolen the prize before he comes—hee, hee, hee!"
Turquand groaned in his soul. In his mental vision his friend already flopped helplessly in the web, and he derived small encouragement from the reflection that she was mistaken in the succulence of her fly.
"You're not smoking," she said. "Do! I don't mind it a bit."
He scowled at her darkly, and was prepared to see betrothal in the eyes of the absent pair when they rejoined them.
As yet, however, they were still wedged in the crowd around the tables. On their right, a fat Frenchwoman cried "Assez! assez!" imploringly as her horse, leading by a foot, threatened at last to glide past the winning-post and leave victory in the rear; to their left, an English girl, evidently on her honeymoon, was making radiant demands on the bridegroom's gold. Kent had lost sixteen francs, and Miss Walford had lost five before they perceived that the others had retired.
"We had better go and look for them," she declared.