"Who's that girl?" he asked.
"That's Miss Pimpernel Schley. A pretty name, isn't it?"
"Is it? An American of course."
"Of course."
"What cheek they have? What's she do?"
"I believe she acts in--well, a certain sort of plays."
A slow smile overspread Leo Ulford's face and made him look more like a
huge boy than ever.
"What certain sort?" he asked. "The sort I'd like?"
"Very probably. But I know nothing of your tastes."
She did--everything almost. There are a good many Leo Ulfords lounging
about London.
"I like anything that's a bit lively, with no puritanic humbug about it."
"Well, you surely can't suppose that there can be any puritanic humbug
about Miss Schley or anything she has to do with!"
He glanced again at Pimpernel Schley and then at Lady Holme. The smile on
his face became a grin. Then his huge shoulders began to shake gently.
"I do love talking to women," he said, on the tide of a prolonged
chuckle. "When they aren't deaf."
Lady Holme still remained perfectly grave.
"Do you? Why?" she inquired.
"Can't you guess why?"
"Our charity to our sister women?"
She was smiling now.
"You teach me such a lot," he said.
He drank his Kummel.
"I always learn something when I talk to a woman. I've learnt something
from you."
Lady Holme did not ask him what it was. She saw that he was now more
intent on her than he had been on Miss Schley, and she got up to go,
feeling more cheerful than she had since she left the /atelier/ of
"Cupido.
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