He got up from his chair, and threw away the stump of the fourth cigar he had enjoyed that night.
"We've no room for resters in New York City."
"I'm sure you haven't. But my husband doesn't happen to belong to New York City."
As they were leaving Djenan-el-Maqui, after Mr. Crayford had had a long drink, and while he was speaking to his chauffeur, who had the bonnet of the car up, Alston Lake whispered to Charmian:
"Don't wire to old Claude. Keep it up. You are masterly, quite masterly. Hulloa! anything wrong with the car?"
When they buzzed away Charmian stood for a moment in the drive till silence fell. She was tired, but how happily tired!
And to think that Claude knew nothing, nothing of it all! Some day she would have to tell him how hard she had worked for him! She opened her lips and drew into her lungs the warm air of the night. She was not a "rester." She would not surely "get left."
Pierre yawned rather loudly behind her.
"Oh, Pierre!" she said, turning quickly, startled. "It is terribly late. Stay in bed to-morrow. Don't get up early. Bonne nuit."
"Bonne nuit, madame."