"Is that one of Chris' friends?" Marie asked with an effort when they were out of hearing.
"Chris knows her," was the reply. "She is a Mrs. Heriot."
"She is very smart," Marie said wistfully.
"Smart!" Feathers stopped and looked back at the woman deliberately. "Do you call her smart?" he asked, mildly amazed. "I think she looks a sight; but, then, so do most of the women in this hotel. I suppose it's their way of attracting attention—all others failing."
Marie smiled faintly.
"You don't like women," she said.
He shook his shaggy head.
"I do not," he agreed.
"And yet—just now, you told me I should be wise to make a friend of you."
"I did—and I still mean it, and hope some day that you will do so . . . Here is Chris."