“Oh, very well!” said Mrs. Arteroyd hurriedly—“I don’t mind—”
“I should think you didn’t!” And again the temporary favorite of Prince Dummer-Esel smiled—“It will be a splendid advertisement for you—I mean for your pretty poem! Now do please go home and finish it as charmingly as you have begun,—get it type-written and send it to me at once, with your cheque. I’ll manage all the rest for you! It will be an immense success—simply immense!”
“Do you really think so?” asked Mrs. Arteroyd eagerly, as she rose to go.
“I am sure of it! By the way, your husband is at the front, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Jack is somewhere near Ladysmith, I believe.”
“Ah! That makes it all the more interesting! Now do go home and finish ‘Tommy’s Gal.’ My recitation of it will quite take the colour of the Marquise Dégagée’s ‘Fancye Faire’!”
“Ah—h—h—h!” and Mrs. Arteroyd drew a sharp breath.
Mrs. Long-Adder’s Chinese eyes glittered—she laughed.
“I hate that Marquise! Don’t you?”
For the moment Mrs. Arteroyd felt that she loved Mrs. Long-Adder. But she was discreet.