“I don’t know. I didn’t wait to see. They were making a great noise, screaming at each other. I had won my champagne, and I went and drank it. I always knew these advertisements were perfectly genuine.”
“But the letters,” interposed Georgette. “You must show Helena the letters, Willie.”
“No, no, he mustn’t,” cried Gerard, energetically. “I’m sick of the whole business. Do let’s talk of something else.”
“But I’m not,” protested Helena. “It’s new to me. How selfish you are, Gerard. Don’t you think it’s awfully amusing, Otto? I’m sure you want to hear more.”
“I only want to hear one thing,” said Otto, gravely, bending forward, “and that is what Mynheer van Troyen is going to do with those letters?”
“Why, keep them, of course,” replied Willie.
“It is no business of mine, Mynheer; I have not the honor, like my brother, of being your friend. But if I were umpire, I should insist on those letters being given up and burned.”
“I suppose you don’t approve of the whole joke?” cried Gerard, hotly, forcing back his own better misgivings, swift in defence of his chum.
“It is not my province to express an opinion. Certainly not here. It is not a thing I should have done myself.”
“And the girls who advertised?” continued Gerard. “We only answered advertisements. What of them?”