“And yet my conduct is nothing like so unconventional as the central character in ‘Witches’ ”—a remark which startled from Lane Quiltan: “What on earth do you know about ‘Witches’?”
Wynne smiled agreeably.
“I have relations of my own.”
“Doubtless, but I would like an answer to my question.”
He did not get it, for Wynne only repeated the smile, with a shade more satisfaction.
“I fear,” he said, “our conversation is proving very tiresome to your friends. Shall we talk in another room?”
“Extraordinary creature!” gasped a very splendid lady seated at the grand piano.
“It is what every one will be saying shortly,” returned Wynne, and won a laugh for the readiness of his wit.
“I suppose, Lane,” assumed a man who was airing the tails of his dress-coat before the fire—“I suppose we ought to take the hint and depart, but your friend is so devilish amusing I vote in favour of remaining.”
“Sir,” said Wynne, with very great solemnity, “if I vow to be devilish dull, will you in return vote in favour of going?” The laugh came his way again; and he proceeded, “I make the suggestion with the most generous motives, for if you remain with your coat-tails so perilously near the flame we shall be constrained to the inevitable necessity of putting you out.”