But Ember interrupted, thrusting a ready and generous hand across the table:
"My dear man, I am glad!"
Whitaker took the proffered hand readily and firmly. "Thank you.... I was saying: she called this morning to inform me that, though wedded once, we must be strangers now—and evermore!"
"But you—of course—you argued that nonsense out of her head."
"To the contrary—again."
"But—my dear man!—you said you were celebrating; you permitted me to congratulate you just now—"
"The point is," said Whitaker, with a bland and confident grin; "I've succeeded in arguing that nonsense out of my head—not hers—mine."
Ember gave a helpless gesture. "I'm afraid this is one of my stupid nights...."
"I mean that, though Mary ran away from me, wouldn't listen to reason, I have, in the course of an afternoon's hard tramping, come to the conclusion that there is nothing under the sun which binds me to sit back and accept whatever treatment she purposes according me by courtesy of Jules Max."
Whitaker bent forward, his countenance discovering a phase of seriousness hitherto masked by his twisted smile. He emphasized his points with a stiff, tapping forefinger on the cloth.