"The trouble is, over here you play cards all night in stuffy rooms and eat too many sauces." Harrigan had read this somewhere, and he was pleased to think that he could recall it so fittingly.
"Agreed. You Americans are getting out in the open more than any other white people."
"Wonder how he guessed I was from the States?" Aloud, Harrigan said: "You don't look as though you'd grow any older in the next ten years."
"That depends." The bearded man sighed and lighted a fresh cigarette. "There's a beautiful young woman," with an indicative gesture toward the ballroom.
Harrigan expanded. It was Nora, dancing with the Barone.
"She's the most beautiful young woman in the world," enthusiastically.
"I am her father!"--as Louis XIV might have said, "I am the State."
The bearded man smiled. "Sir, I congratulate you both."
Courtlandt loomed in the doorway. "Comfortable?"
"Perfectly. Good cigar, comfortable chair, fine view."
The duke eyed Courtlandt through the pall of smoke which he had purposefully blown forth. He questioned, rather amusedly, what would have happened had he gone down to the main hall that night in Paris? Among the few things he admired was a well-built handsome man. Courtlandt on his part pretended that he did not see.
"You'll find the claret and champagne punches in the hall," suggested Courtlandt.
"There's a fine chap. Edward Courtlandt, the American millionaire." It was not possible for Harrigan to omit this awe-compelling elaboration.
"Edward Courtlandt." The stranger stretched his legs. "I have heard of him. Something of a hunter."
"There is no half-way with your rich American: either his money ruins him or he runs away from it."
"There's a stunner," exclaimed Harrigan. "Wonder how she got here?"
"The one in scarlet. She is Flora Desimone. She and my daughter sing together sometimes. Of course you have heard of Eleonora da Toscana; that's my daughter's stage name. The two are not on very good terms, naturally."
"But you can't get away from the Calabrian's beauty," generously.
"No." The bearded man extinguished his cigarette and rose, laying a _carte-de-visite_ on the tabouret. "More, I should not care to get away from it. Good evening," pleasantly. The music stopped. He passed on into the crowd.