"I am fond of you, mon amiindeed I am fond of you. You are very charmingun beau garçon, but ce n'est pas pratique."
"You are a rich man's luxury, eh? Is that it."
"If you like to put it that way."
She leaned back on the cushions, her head flung back.
"All the same, I am fond of you, Dereek."
He went over to the window and stood there some time looking out, with his back to her. Presently the dancer raised herself on her elbow and stared at him curiously.
"What are you thinking of, mon ami?"
He grinned at her over his shoulder, a curious grin, that made her vaguely uneasy.
"As it happened, I was thinking of a woman, my dear."
"A woman, eh?"
Mirelle pounced on something that she could understand.
"You are thinking of some other woman, is that it?"
"Oh, you needn't worry; it is purely a fancy portrait. 'Portrait of a lady with grey eyes.'"
Mirelle said sharply, "When did you meet her?"
Derek Kettering laughed, and his laughter had a mocking, ironical sound.
"I ran into the lady in the corridor of the Savoy Hotel."
"Well! what did she say?"
"As far as I can remember, I said, 'I beg your pardon,' and she said, 'It doesn’t matter,' or words to that effect."
"And then?" persisted the dancer.
