"How funny," said Valerie. She looked at Sam, aware of something else in his grin, and gave an uncertain little laugh. He sat down, rubbing his ear-lobes, the malicious grin still lingering on his countenance. What he had not told her was that Querida's volcanically irregular affairs of the heart always ended with the gift of an Oporto parrot. Marianne Valdez owned one. So did Mazie Gray. His cynical gaze rested on Valerie reflectively. He had heard plenty of rumours and whispers concerning her; and never believed any of them. He could not believe now that the gift of this crimson, green and sky-blue creature signified anything. Yet Querida had known her as long as anybody except Neville. "When did he give you this parrot?" he asked, carelessly. "Oh, one day just before I was going to Atlantic City. He was coming down, too, to stay a fortnight while I was there, and come back with me; and he said that He had intended to give the parrot to me after our return, but that he might as well give it to me before I went." "I see," said Ogilvy, thoughtfully. A few moments later, as he and Annan were leaving the house, he said: "It looks to me as though our friend, José, had taken too much for granted." "It looks like it," nodded Annan, smiling unpleasantly. "Too sure of conquest," added Ogilvy. "Got the frozen mitt, didn't he?" "_And_ the Grand Cordon of the double cross." "_And_ the hot end of the poker; yes?" "Sure; and it's still sizzling." Ogilvy cast a gleeful glance back at the house: "Fine little girl. All white. Yes? No?" "All white," nodded Annan.... "And Neville isn't that kind of a man, anyway." Ogilvy said: "So _you_ think so, too?" "Oh, yes. He's crazy about her, and she isn't taking Sundays out if it's his day in.... Only, what's the use?" "No use.... I guess Kelly Neville has seen as many artists who've married their models as we have. Besides, his people are frightful snobs." Annan, walking along briskly, swung his stick vigorously: "She's a sweet little thing," he said. "I know it. It's going to be hard for her. She can't stand for a mutt--and it's the only sort that will marry her.... I don't know--she's a healthy kind of girl--but God help her if she ever really falls in love with one of our sort." "I think she's done it," said Annan. "Kelly!" "Doesn't it look like it?" "Oh, it will wear off without any harm to either of them. That little girl is smart, all right; she'll never waste an evening screaming for the moon. And Kelly Neville is--is Kelly Neville--a dear fellow, so utterly absorbed in the career of a brilliant and intelligent young artist named Louis Neville, that if the entire earth blew up he'd begin a new canvas the week after.... Not that I think him cold-hearted--no, not even selfish as that little bounder Allaire says--but he's a man who has never yet had time to spare."