“Young fool!” he reflected. “If I can't beat his time—” He ordered dinner to be sent up, and mixed himself a cocktail, using the utmost care in its preparation. Drinking it, he eyed himself complacently in the small mirror over the mantel. Yes, life was not bad. It was damned interesting. It was a game. No, it was a race where a man could so hedge his bets that he stood to gain, whoever won.
When there was a knock at the door he did not turn. “Come in,” he said.
But it was not the waiter. It was Edith Boyd. He saw her through the mirror, and so addressed her.
“Hello, sweetie,” he said. Then he turned. “You oughtn't to come here, Edith. I've told you about that.”
“I had to see you, Lou.”
“Well, take a good look, then,” he said. Her coming fitted in well with the complacence of his mood. Yes, life was good, so long as it held power, and drink, and women.
He stooped to kiss her, but although she accepted the caress, she did not return it.
“Not mad at me, Miss Boyd, are you?”
“No. Lou, I'm frightened!”