Where There's a Will

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

"When was that?" Mr. von Inwald's voice.

"A year ago, in Vienna."

"Where?"

"At the Bal Tabarin. You were in a loge. The man I was with told me who the woman was. It was she, I think, who suggested that you lean over the rail—"

"Ah, so!" said Mr. von Inwald as if he just remembered. "Ah, yes, I recall—I was with—the lady was red-haired, is it not? And it was she who desired me—"

"You leaned over the rail and poured a glass of wine on my head. It was very funny. The lady was charmed."

"I recall it perfectly. I remember that I did it under protest—it was a very fine wine, and expensive."

"Then you also recall," said Mr. Pierce, very quietly, "that because you were with a—well, because you were with a woman, I could not return your compliment. But I demanded the privilege at some future date when you were alone."

"It is a pity," replied Mr. von Inwald, "that now, when I am alone, there is no wine!"

"No, there is no wine," Mr. Pierce agreed slowly, "but there is—"