“How could you see him at all through your newspaper?”
“I poked a hole, of course.”
“To look at him or at me?”
“Your mirror ought to reassure you. However, as an afterthought, who is he?”
“Prince Erlik, of Mongolia,” replied Neeland solemnly.
“I supposed so. We of the infernal aristocracy belong together. I am the Contessa Diabletta d’Enfer.”
He inclined gravely:
“I’m afraid I don’t belong here,” he said. “I’m only a Yankee.”
“Hell is full of them,” she said, smiling. “All Yankees belong where Prince Erlik and I are at home.... Do you play?”
“No. Do you?”