"How dare she?"
"What?"
"It's most unladylike—begging a gentleman for gifts. I'll see that she apologizes."
"If you do I'll punch your head. She couldn't do anything unladylike if she tried."
"I don't approve—"
"Nonsense!"
"I'll see that she gets her chocolates."
"Oh, I've sent 'em—a deadly consignment—enough to destroy both of you. And I've left a standing order for five pounds a week."
"But that letter—it's blackmail." Bernie groaned. "She holds me up in the same way whenever she feels like it. She's getting suspicious of me lately, and I daren't tell her I'm a detective. The other day she set Remus, our gardener, on my trail, and he shadowed me all over the town. Felicite thinks there's something wrong, too, and she's taken to following me. Between her and Remus I haven't a moment's privacy."
"It's tough for a detective to be dogged by his gardener and his sweetheart," Norvin sympathized. He began to run through his mail, while his visitor talked on in his amusing, irrelevant fashion.