“Same as last week, excepting at the Gaieté. They’ve put on ‘La Belle Hélène’ there.”
“Oh! Belle Hélène!” cried Clifford.
Tzing! la! la! Tzing! la! la!
C’est avec ces dames qu’ Oreste
Fait danser l’argent de Papa!
Rhodes began to growl again.
“I shouldn’t think you’d feel like gibbering that rot tonight.”
Clifford smiled sweetly and patted him on the head. “Tzing! la! la! My shot, Elliott?”
“Tzing! la! la!” laughed Thaxton, “That’s Clifford’s biography in three words.”
Clifford repeated the refrain and winked impudently at the pretty bookkeeper behind her railing. She, alas! returned it with a blush.
Gethryn rose restlessly and went over to another table where a man, young, but older than himself, sat, looking comfortable.
“Braith,” he began, trying to speak indifferently, “any news of my fate?”