“Don’t know,” Dan answered indifferently. “Marconied him; didn’t tell him about it before he left. You see he doesn’t understand England—doesn’t like it.”
A little dazed by the way each of the two women took the mention of the other, he asked timidly:
“You don’t like the Duchess of Breakwater, then?”
And she laughed again.
“Goodness gracious, I don’t know her; actresses don’t sit around with duchesses.” Then abruptly, her beautiful eyes, under their curled dark lashes, full on him, she asked:
“Do you like her?”
“You bet!” he said ardently. “Of course I do. I am crazy about her.” Yet he realized, as he replied, that he didn’t have any inclination to begin to talk about his fiancée.
They had reached the Carlton and the door of Letty Lane’s motor was held open.
“Better get out,” he urged, “and have something to eat.”
And she, leaning a little way toward him, laughed.