"He was there a week."
"More's the pity," said I.
"For him--yes."
"For him?" I echoed.
She nodded. "I feel very sorry for Ferdinand." Then she blushed. "I
think he does love me, Armand."
"I can't blame him for that," said I. "He's a queer sort if he
doesn't."
"Foolish!" she laughed, giving me a little tap with her fan. "And you
see, dear, he might have had a chance if you had not come."