Retaining her hand coolly enough, he introduced the girl to a capacious lounge-chair beside the desk, then settled himself behind it.
Joan shook her wits together.
"You're awf'ly kind—"
"I—kind?" Marbridge denied the implication with an indulgent smile. "My dear Miss Thursday, if you get to know me well—and I sincerely hope you will some day—you'll find there's not a spark of human generosity in my system. I think only of my own pleasure. How can there be kindness to you in my seizing this chance to improve our acquaintance? I declare, I thought you'd forgotten me!"
"Oh, no!" Joan protested.
"Really? That's charming of you. But tell me about yourself. How long have you been back?"
"Not long," Joan replied instinctively to the first stock question that marks every other similar meeting in the theatrical district of New York. "That is—I mean—a couple of months."
"Oh, then you didn't stay with 'The Lie'?"
"You knew about that?"
Marbridge nodded briskly. "Indeed, I did! Pete Gloucester told me all about you—how splendidly you were doing at rehearsals—and then, one afternoon in Chicago, I saw the sketch billed and dropped in at the theatre for the sole purpose of seeing you. And if I hadn't had a train to catch, I'd have come right round back to congratulate you. Fact! You were wonderful. You were more than wonderful: you were downright adorable, and no mistake!"