"I had hoped, Flamby, that you had done as I once asked you to do and dropped—Orlando James."
"I did," said Flamby quickly and continuing to caress the spaniel. "I wrote to Don the very night you told me to."
"And I am sure that Don agreed with me."
"He did, yes. But—Don knows I still pretend to be friends with—James."
Paul stood still, facing her, but she did not look up. "Don knows this?"
Flamby nodded her head. She did not seem to care that her hair was in disorder. "He knows that I hate James, though," she added.
"I don't understand at all. Whatever can have induced you to trust yourself in that ruffian's studio?"
"I've been before. It was my fault. I made him think he was doing fine."
"Doing fine?"
"He is so infernally conceited. I wanted to let him down. But he got desperate. He is not a man; he's a pig. But I threw a cabinet at him."