"That Somers girl," Ermengarde repeated slowly and thoughtfully, as if wondering to whom she referred.
"I don't think much of her," continued Dorris. "You know you can't be too particular who you get to know in places like this. Very queer people in these cheap Continental pensions."
"How true!" Ermengarde murmured thoughtfully. "I've never seen a Carnival, have you?"
"You ought to see the Nice Carnival; this is a very one-horse thing. Did you know Miss Somers in England?"
"Did you?"
"Not exactly, but I knew of her. That is, I knew the man she was supposed to be engaged to. I—I knew him rather well, in fact." Miss Boundrish's smile suggested worlds.
"Were you engaged to him, as well?"
"Well—not exactly engaged. Poor Ivor!" with the usual gurgle. "Such an escape for him."—So Ermengarde thought.—"They say his people knew nothing about it. So you picked her up abroad?"
"She—if you mean Miss Somers—picked me up once, on the floor of a corridor carriage. Not pleasant to tumble down in a faint on the floor of a train. One is thankful to be picked up and taken care of——"
"By anybody, of course," with the gurgle so familiar at Les Oliviers. "Well, you'd better be on your guard, that's all. Did you lose any money, anything of value on the way?"