"Who knows? She would be indifferent in that case, and polite: as it is, she is cold, even rude."
"That may be resentment."
"Resentment means remembrance."
"Oh, not always."
"Then she has a number of my letters."
"So you said; you cannot be so very sure she has kept them. Other people may have written her the same sort of letters, or more admirable letters still: how can you tell?"
He colors angrily. "She is not a femme légère."
"She is receiving a great deal of attention now from Lord Brandolin, and she does not seem to dislike it. They say he writes exquisite letters to women he is fond of; I don't know myself, because I have never had anything more interesting from him than notes about dinners or visits; but they say so. They even say that his deserted ladies forgive his desertions because he writes his farewells so divinely."
"Lord Brandolin's epistolary accomplishments do not interest me in the least. Everybody knows what he is with women." He pauses a moment, then adds, with some hesitation,—
"Dear Dorothy, you know her very well. Don't you think you could find out for me, and tell me——"