"I will remind you of it at Corfu," she said.
The men watched them down the corridor before Bertie Morris became eloquent. He was not a little piqued that the girls had ignored him, while even Sir Jules had regarded him as one regards an ugly piece of china in a glass-case. A poor tribute, he thought, to the might of the pen.
"Well?" said Faber.
"A d——d fine girl, but cold as marble!"
"What makes you think so?"
"Voice, gesture, everything. Give her a chance, and she'd be up on a platform spouting."
"I don't think so. She's going to have many chances. What about the others?"
"The old man's daughter is just a bread-and-butter miss. I liked little Claudine d'Arny—as ugly as sin, but passion enough for a nautch girl."
"You remind me of her father. See here: I had a letter from him to-day. What would happen to-morrow if I published it—by accident? Here's a note of it."
Bertie read it carelessly; then with a journalistic interest: