"He is tall and beautifully proportioned, with clear blue eyes and a small moustache which he twists between the finger and thumb of his right hand."
"It was he!"
"What shall I do?"
"Well, obviously it would be criminal to allow Miss Waddington to associate with this man."
"But he's coming to dinner to-night."
Madame Eulalie, whose impulses sometimes ran away with her, was about to say: "Poison his soup": but contrived in time to substitute for this remark a sober shrug of the shoulders.
"I must leave it to you, Mrs. Waddington," she said, "to decide on the best course of action. I cannot advise. I only warn. If you want change for a large bill, I think I can manage it for you," she added, striking the business note.
All the way home to Seventy-Ninth Street Mrs. Waddington pondered deeply. And, as she was not a woman who, as a rule, exercised her brain to any great extent, by the time she reached the house she was experiencing some of the sensations of one who has been hit on the head by a sand-bag. What she felt that she needed above all things in the world was complete solitude: and it was consequently with a jaundiced eye that she looked upon her husband, Sigsbee Horatio, when, a few moments after her return, he shuffled into the room where she had planted herself down for further intensive meditation.
"Well, Sigsbee?" said Mrs. Waddington, wearily.
"Oh, there you are," said Sigsbee H.