"Do you think that?" He sat up. "I've not been too satisfied myself." "You've been filling up with letters from your correspondents after the fashion of more jaded columnists. Even your comments on them have been flat. And as for your description of that prize fight last night, it was about as thrilling as an account of a flower show." He laughed and dropped back. "You are as refreshing as a cold shower, Gora. But, after all, even a poor colyumist must be allowed to slump occasionally. However, I'll turn her off hereafter when I sit down to my typewriter. Lord knows a typewriter is no Wagnerian orchestra and should be warranted to banish sentiment. . . . Sentiment is not the word, though. It is plain raging curiosity." "Oh, no, it is not," said Miss Dwight coolly, lighting another cigarette, which she carefully fitted into a pair of small gold tongs: neither ink nor nicotine was ever seen on those long aristocratic fingers. "You are in love with her, my child." "I am not!" "Oh, yes, you are. I've never been misled for a moment by your other brief rhapsodies--the classic Anne--the demoniac Marian--but you're landed high and dry this time. The mystery may have something to do with it, but the woman has far more. She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld and she looks intelligent and keen in spite of that monumental repose. And what a great lady!" Gora sighed. How she once had longed to be a great lady! She no longer cared a fig about it, and would not have changed her present state for that of a princess in a stable world. But old dreams die hard. There was no one of Madame Zattiany's abundant manifestations of high fortune that she admired more. "Go in and win, Clavey--and without too much loss of time. She'll be drawn into her own world here sooner or later. She confesses to being a widow, so you needn't get tangled up in an intrigue." "You forget she is also a very rich woman. I'd look like a fortune hunter----" "How old-fashioned of you! And you'd feel like nothing of the sort. The only thing that worries you at present is that you are trying to hide from yourself that you are in love with her." "I wonder! I don't feel any raging desire for her--that I can swear." "You simply haven't got that far. The mystery has possessed your mind and your doubts have acted as a censor. But once let yourself go . . ." "And suppose she turned me down--which, no doubt, she would do. I'm not hunting for tragedy." "I've an idea she won't. While you've been talking I've written out the whole story in my mind. For that matter, I began it last Monday night when I saw you two whispering together. I was in the box just above--if you noticed! And I watched her face. It was something more than politely interested."