"To which you returned an insufferable verbal reply." "A bad-tempered reply, I admit. No insult was intended. And I've come now to apologize for the temper." "Oh, dear!" sighed Lucette. "Men always do their thinking too late. I wish I could reassure you; but the mischief seems to be done. Poor Gertrude is furious." "Then the headache is--hypothetical?" "An excuse, you mean? I wish it were, for her sake!" Lucette's eyes positively caressed me, as a tiger might lick the still-warm muzzle of an antelope, its proximate meal. "If you could see her face, poor creature! She's in torment." "I'm sorry." "Isn't that--what you called her headache?" "No. I'm ashamed of my boorishness. Let me see Gertrude and tell her so." Lucette smiled, slightly shaking her head. "Impossible--till she's feeling better. And not then--unless she changes her mind. You see, Ambrose, Mrs. Parrot's version of your reply was the last straw." "No doubt she improved on the original," I muttered. "Oh, no doubt," agreed Lucette calmly. "She would. It was silly of you not to think of that." "Yes," I snapped. "Men always underestimate a woman's malice." "They have so many distractions, poor dears. Men, I mean. And we have so few. You can put that in your next article, Ambrose?" She straightened her languid curves deliberately, as if preparing to rise. "Please!" I exclaimed. "I'm not ready for dismissal yet. We'll get down to facts, if you don't mind. Why is Gertrude here at all? After years of silence? Did you send for her?" Lucette's spine slowly relaxed, her shoulders drooped once more. "I? My dear Ambrose, why on earth should I do a thing like that?" "I don't know. The point is, did you?" "You think it in character?" "Oh--be candid! I don't mean directly, of course. But is she here because of anything you may have telephoned her--after your call last night?" "Really, Ambrose! This is a little too much, even from you." "Forgive me--I insist! Is she?" "You must have a very bad conscience," replied Lucette. "I am more interested in yours." She laughed luxuriously, "Mine has never been clearer." Did the woman want me to stop her breath with bare hands? I gripped the mahogany arms of my stiff Chippendale chair. "Listen to me, Lucette! I know this is all very thrilling and amusing for you. Vivisection must have its charms, of course--for an expert. But I venture to remind you that once upon a time you were not a bad-hearted girl, and you must have some remnants of human sympathy about you somewhere. Am I wrong?" "You're hideously rude." "Granted. But I must place you. I won't accept you as an onlooker. Either you'll fight me or help me--or clear out. Is that plain?" "You're worse than rude," said Lucette; "you're a beast! I always wondered why Gertrude couldn't live with you. Now I know." "That's better," I hazarded. "We're beginning to understand each other. Now let's lay all our cards face up on the table?"