He lit a cigarette, clasped his hands behind his head, and began:
"Well, I suppose you will want to know what is being done in the City of Destruction from which you fled so precipitately. I have not noticed any tendency on your part to stop your ears to its sounds, though you may not hanker after its fleshpots."
"Do not be horrid," I replied; "and if you are going to be cynical I will go in and chat with the housekeeper. I am not particularly anxious to know what is happening in your City of Destruction."
He elevated his eyebrows. "Miss Fleming, for instance?" he queried.
"Of course I shall be glad to hear of Rose. I always am. And that reminds me that her letters are few and unsatisfactory. Have you seen anything of her since the holidays?"
"Yes," he replied, "we have met several times; once at the house of a mutual friend, once at Olympia, and I believe twice at the theatre."
"Do people 'meet' at the theatre?" I inquired.
"They do if they arrange to do so, and keep their appointments," he replied provokingly. "I am fortunate in being acquainted with some of Miss Fleming's friends. I am sorry her letters leave something to be desired, but you need not be uneasy; she herself is as lively and fascinating as ever."
I should have liked to ask him who the friends were, for Rose has never mentioned them, and she had none who could possibly have been in the Cynic's set in the old days; but friends can generally be found when the occasion demands them. I said nothing, of course, and he looked at me quizzically.
"Your comments," he remarked, "if I may quote, are 'few and unsatisfactory.'"