De Vaux took his cigar out of his mouth, blew a cloud of smoke into the air, and tipped his long glass so high that one might fancy that he feared lest even the moisture adhering to its sides should escape him. He set it down and wiped his lips with a sigh of satisfaction. Then he said:
"And what about the young lady herself?"
"An uncertain quantity."
"Has she given you no sign?"
"Signs enough sometimes that she wished I was in Jericho, or at the North Pole, or some other equally remote and cheerful place."
"Why? What's the matter?"
"Just at present she's taken with that Canadian peasant's muscles. Like the rest of the women, she is more attracted by the body of a man than by his birth or brains."
He laughed again, and his laugh was unpleasant to hear.
De Vaux gulped down another drink and answered with a little bit of angry stutter:
"You've said enough, Carteret.... By Jove! there are lots of decent women.... If you and I haven't met many of them, it's our own fault.... 'Pon my honour, it is!"