“Then is that story true about her?”
“If you have heard anything against her reputation, I can undertake to declare it false.”
Little Magens, when under the united influence of sentiment and sherry, could be very fiery.
He was a grateful homuncule.
“Of course not,” rejoined his interrogator. “I mean that other story.”
“Are you trying to pump me, Mr Bromley?”
“It would take a cleverer man than me to do that, Angelo—another glass—there’s lots of time. We’ve only been five minutes, and the entr’acte at a French play is never less than a quarter of an hour. (Glasses filled.) You were saying—”
“Well, the only story I have ever heard is about her family. They say, with I do not know what foundation, that she is of a good family, and is devoting all her profits to the support of it. She certainly does not live in the style of a person earning the immense salaries she receives.”
“Rabelais, I suppose, knows all about it.”
Magens shook his head, swallowed the remainder of his glass, and silently led the way back to the theatre.