Perhaps her eyes were weak; but no, her eyes were sparkling with the "right Promethean fire." Perhaps she was of weak intellect; but that was ridiculous.
Then the lady who had read the book began to ask more questions. I do not know anything more irritating than to be asked questions about your own book.
"Will you tell us, Mr. Dunquerque, if the story of the bear-hunt is a true one, or did you make it up?"
"We made up nothing. That story is perfectly true. And the man's name was Beck."
"Curious," said Mr. Cassilis. "An American named Beck, Mr. Gilead P. Beck, is in London now, and has been recommended to me. He is extremely rich. I think, my dear, that you invited him to dinner to-day?'
"Yes. He found he could not come at the last moment. He will be here in the evening."
"Then you will see the very man," said Jack, "unless there is more than one Gilead P. Beck, which is hardly likely."
"This man has practically an unlimited credit," said the host.
"And talks, I suppose, like, well, like the stage Americans, I suppose," said his wife.
"You know," Jack explained, "that the stage American is all nonsense. The educated American talks a great deal better than we do. He can string his sentences together; we can only bark."