Apparently he thought it very much worth while. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. She always left the table when they began to smoke. Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. Taber and no one comment upon it.
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