She sighed and passed between the curtains. It was the slack time after luncheon, and Freddy was enjoying a moment’s interval. Stretched on his divan, his embroidered slippers elevated in the air, he smoked a perfumed cigarette surrounded by the materials of his craft. He smiled at Mrs. Vivianson as she entered, and then raised his aristocratic eyebrows in surprise.
“Has anything gone wrong? You swept in as tragically as my mother when she comes to disown me. She does it regularly every week, and as regularly takes me on again.” He exhaled a scented cloud, and smiled once more.
“Freddy,” said Mrs. Vivianson, going direct to the point, “this little speculation of ours has turned out very well, hasn’t it?”
“Beyond dreams!” acquiesced Freddy. She went on:
“You came to me a penniless detrimental, with a talent of which nobody guessed that anything could be made. I gave this gift a chance to develop. I set you on your legs, and——”
“Me voici! You don’t want me to rise up and bless you, do you?” said Freddy, with half-closed eyes. “Thanks awfully, you know, all the same!”
“I don’t know that I want thanks, quite,” said Mrs. Vivianson. “I’ve had back every penny that I invested, and pulled off a bouncing profit. Your share amounts to a handsome sum. In a little while you’ll be able to pay your debts.”
“I shall never do that!” said Freddy, with feeling.
“Marry, and leave me—perhaps,” went on Mrs. Vivianson. A shade swept over her face, her dark eyes glowed somberly, the lines of her mouth hardened.
“Keep as you are!” cried Freddy, rebounding to a sitting position on the divan.