“Who?”
“Mademoiselle Dedieu.”
He smiled, contemplating the end of his cigar.
“Ah, I have heard all about your infatuation,” she continued seriously; “but, I suppose I must not reproach you, inasmuch as I have no right to do so,” and she sighed.
“You have always been one of my dearest friends, Dolly,” he remarked warmly; “and I hope you will continue so, even though I have promised to marry Valérie Dedieu.”
“You—you have promised to be her husband?” she gasped in dismay.
“Yes. Why, surely you, too, are not going to defame her?” he exclaimed in astonishment. “Come, tell me what you know concerning her.”
“Personally, I know nothing,” she answered in an earnest tone, “but as your friend—as one who has your interests at heart, I would urge you to heed the warning you have already received. Has not Mr Egerton told you that she is not a fit woman to be your wife?”
“He certainly did say something once, in a vague sort of way.”
“Why then do you not take his advice?”