"Not a bit of it! He's the last man in the world to worry himself about love!"
Manella glanced him over with quite a superior air.
"Ah, perhaps you do not know!" And she waved her hands expressively. "There was a wonderful lady came here to see him some weeks ago—she stole up the hill at night, like a spirit—a little, little fairy woman with golden hair—"
Gwent pricked up his ears and stood at attention.
"Yes? Really? You don't say so! 'A little fairy woman'? Sounds like a story!"
"She wore the most lovely clothes"—went on Manella, clasping her hands in ecstasy—"She stayed at the Plaza one night—I waited upon her. I saw her in her bed—she had skin like satin, and eyes like blue stars—her hair fell nearly to her ankles—she was like a dream! And she went up the hill by moonlight all by herself, to find HIM!"
Gwent listened with close interest.
"And I presume she found him?"
Manella nodded, and a sigh escaped her.
"Oh, yes, she found him! He told me that. And I am sure—something tells me HERE" and she pressed one hand against her heart—"by the way he spoke—that he loves her!"