“I'm afraid, dear,” said he, “that the cats are dead and Arachne has married a stock-broker, and I 've been so busy that the palace has run to seed.”
“I thought she was going to marry a duke,” said Stella, whose memory for unimportant detail was femininely tenacious.
“The duke was caught by Miss Cassandra P. Wurgles,” said John, once more launched on the sea of romance.
“What a funny name,” said Stella.
“It's the kind of name,” he replied, “always given in English fiction to the heiresses of the Middle West of America.”
“Was she an heiress?”
“Worth billions. After they were married they do say she would n't let the duke wipe his razor on anything less valuable than a thousand-dollar bill.”
“I don't think that's quite true,” laughed Stella.
“I don't know,” said John. “Anyhow, Arachne fell back on a stock-broker named Maclsaac, and now there's no one to look after the palace.”
“No one at all?” Her voice was full of pity.