He hastened about, rummaging in his valise for what he wanted, and finally pocketing it. Then he turned his attention to his fair neighbour, who was good-looking and kindly disposed towards him. "What are you up to?" he said, smiling. "Just cleaning," she replied, stopping and winding a dusting towel about her hand. "Tired of it?" "Not so very." "Let me show you something," he said, affably, coming over and taking out of his pocket a little lithographed card which had been issued by a wholesale tobacco company. On this was printed a picture of a pretty girl, holding a striped parasol, the colours of which could be changed by means of a revolving disk in the back, which showed red, yellow, green, and blue through little interstices made in the ground occupied by the umbrella top. "Isn't that clever?" he said, handing it to her and showing her how it worked. "You never saw anything like that before." "Isn't it nice?" she answered. "You can have it if you want it," he remarked. "That's a pretty ring you have," he said, touching a commonplace setting which adorned the hand holding the card he had given her. "Do you think so?" "That's right," he answered, making use of a pretence at examination to secure her finger. "That's fine." The ice being thus broken, he launched into further observation, pretending to forget that her fingers were still retained by his. She soon withdrew them, however, and retreated a few feet to rest against the window-sill. "I didn't see you for a long time," she said, coquettishly, repulsing one of his exuberant approaches. "You must have been away." "I was," said Drouet. "Do you travel far?" "Pretty far--yes." "Do you like it?" "Oh, not very well. You get tired of it after a while." "I wish I could travel," said the girl, gazing idly out of the window. "What has become of your friend, Mr. Hurstwood?" she suddenly asked, bethinking herself of the manager, who, from her own observation, seemed to contain promising material. "He's here in town. What makes you ask about him?" "Oh, nothing, only he hasn't been here since you got back." "How did you come to know him?" "Didn't I take up his name a dozen times in the last month?" "Get out," said the drummer, lightly. "He hasn't called more than half a dozen times since we've been here." "He hasn't, eh?" said the girl, smiling. "That's all you know about it." Drouet took on a slightly more serious tone. He was uncertain as to whether she was joking or not. "Tease," he said, "what makes you smile that way?" "Oh, nothing." "Have you seen him recently?" "Not since you came back," she laughed. "Before?" "Certainly." "How often?" "Why, nearly every day." She was a mischievous newsmonger, and was keenly wondering what the effect of her words would be. "Who did he come to see?" asked the drummer, incredulously. "Mrs. Drouet." He looked rather foolish at this answer, and then attempted to correct himself so as not to appear a dupe.