“More silly ass you,” Lonsdale yawned. “Now don’t annoy me while I’m dressing with your impressions of the sunrise.” Michael watched him eat his breakfast, while he slowly and with the troublesome aid of his eyeglass managed to focus once again the world. “I was going to tell you something deuced interesting about myself when you buzzed off this morning. You’ve heard of Queenie Molyneux—well, Queenie ...” “Wait a bit,” Michael interrupted. “I haven’t heard of Queenie Molyneux.” “Why, she’s in the Pink Quartette.” Michael still looked blank, and Lonsdale adjusting his eyeglass looked at him in amazement. “The Pink Quartette in My Mistake.” “Oh, that rotten musical comedy,” said Michael. “I haven’t seen it.” Lonsdale shook his head in despair, and the monocle tinkled down upon his plate. When he had wiped it clean of marmalade, he asked Michael in a compassionate voice if he _never_ went to the theater, and with a sigh returned to the subject of Queenie. “It’s the most extraordinary piece of luck. A girl that everyone in town has been running after falls in love with me. Now the question is, what ought I to do? I can’t afford to keep her, and I’m not cad enough to let somebody else keep her, and use the third latchkey. My dear old chap, I don’t mind telling you I’m in the deuce of a fix.” “Are you very much in love with her?” Michael asked. “Of course I am. You don’t get Queenies chucked at your head like turnips. Of course I’m frightfully keen.” “Why don’t you marry her?” Michael asked. “What? Marry her? You don’t seem to understand who I’m talking about. Queenie Molyneux! She’s in the Pink Quartette in My Mistake.” “Well?” “Well, I can’t marry a chorus-girl.” “Other people have,” said Michael. “Well, yes, but—er—you know, Queenie has rather a reputation. I shouldn’t be the first.” “The problem’s too hard for me,” said Michael. In his heart he would have liked to push Manon Lescaut into Lonsdale’s hands and bid him read that for counsel. But he could not help laughing to himself at the notion of Lonsdale wrestling with the moral of Manon Lescaut, and if the impulse had ever reached his full consciousness, it died on the instant. “Of course, if this motor-car business is any good,” Lonsdale was saying, “I might be able in a year or two to compete with elderly financiers. But my advice to you ...” “You asked for my advice,” said Michael, with a smile. “I know I did. I know I did. But as you haven’t ever been to see My Mistake—the most absolutely successful musical comedy for years—why, my dear fellow, I’ve been thirty-eight times!... and my advice to you is ‘avoid actresses.’ Oh, yes, I know it’s difficult, I know, I know.” Lonsdale shook his head so often that the monocle fell on the floor, and his wisdom was speechless until he could find it again.