“I expect Rand’s lying a little, for advertisement. No, Mark didn’t send for him. He never engages people to come from England. Has Rand come over? According to Margot he’s such an idol in London that it’d take an act of Parliament to get him away. Miss Boyle’s here. We saw her at lunch in the Algonquin and she patronized Mark for a minute. Didn’t Rand play some part in this ‘Todgers Intrudes’ piffle in London?” “Which reminds me,” said Olive, “Margot made Mark take that? Is she making him cover her with emeralds and give masked balls?” Gurdy said honestly, “No, not at all. We’ve had some house parties--some friends of mine and some of the reviewers and so on. She seems to be amusing herself.” “And she hasn’t shocked Mark?” “Why should she?” Gurdy laughed, leaning on the white handrail, “she doesn’t do any of the things he dislikes seeing women do. She doesn’t drink anything, for instance, and she doesn’t paint. When did she go in for pacifism--not that I’ve any objection to it.” “That was a way of helping me out when my boy fell, I think. She raged about the war as a sort of outlet for me. Really, she enjoyed the war tremendously. As most girls did. Is she still raving about the slaughter of the artist?” “The slaughter of actors. Some Englishman--an actor--said that too many actors slacked and she lit on him. He mentioned half a dozen--can’t remember them.--You told me in London that she wanted to act?” “Yes. Has she been teasing Mark--” “No. But I think she could.” “My dear boy, I’ve seen her in amateur things twice and she was appalling! Vivacity isn’t ability. Of course she has a full equipment in the way of looks.--You mustn’t get dazzled over Margot, Gurdy.” His face was blank. Olive chanced a probe. “I forbid you to fall in love with her, either. You’re cousins and it’s not healthy.” “I’m not thinking of it,” said Gurdy, red, and so convinced Olive that he was deep in love. But the dying blush left him grave. He stood listening to the slow drawl of Mark’s voice below them and wondering what tone would overtake its husky music if Margot should turn on the worshipper, screaming and hateful. He wondered at himself, too. His passion had blown out. It had no ash, no regret. He was free of anger, even, and he had done the girl mental justice. He didn’t want her back. “You look rather done up, old man.” “War nerves. We’ve all got them. And I’m reading plays and some of them make me howl. Such awful junk! ‘Don’t, don’t look at me like that. I’m a good woman, and you have taken from me the only thing I had to love in the whole world.’ That sort of stuff. And the plays for reform are as bad as the ones against it. I don’t know why people always lose their sense of humour when they start talking economics!”