The waiter absent-mindedly dusted the back of a chair.
“Well, sir, it isn’t for the likes of me to be contradictious, but I’ve got two sisters an’ ’arf-a-dozen cousins, an’ I don’t go kissin’ their pictures an’ swearin’ to ’ave it out with their ’usbin’s.”
“Oh, come now. You are romancing.”
“Not a bit, sir. When I went to my room I—er—’eard ’im.”
“Is there a wooden partition between No. 18 and your room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And cracks—large ones?”
“Yes, sir. But why you should—oh, I see! Excuse me, sir; I thought I ’eard a bell.”
The waiter hurried off, and Brett unwound himself.
“So Robert is in love with Margaret,” he said, laughing unmirthfully. “Was there ever such a tangle! If I indulge in a violent flirtation with Miss Layton, and I persuade Winter to ogle Mrs. Jiro, the affair should be artistically complete.”