petulantly. "It's very serious to me. You ought to understand what I feel. I'm not trifling. Cleo, would you marry me if I get my divorce? The trial is over by this time. Any moment I expect to receive a telegram telling me the result. Would you marry me?"
He bent eagerly forward and tried to seize her hand. But she quickly withdrew it and, picking up the mandolin, began to play.
"I will answer your question," she said with an elusive smile, "when you are free—not before. I refuse to discuss such matters with a man who is still married."
At that moment Achmet entered the studio with something on a silver salver. Passing over to Roy, he said:
"A telegram, sir. Is there any answer?"
His face flushed, Roy hastily rose from the divan and snatching the yellow envelope, tore it open. Cleo watched the expression on his face with languid interest. Turning to Achmet, he said:
"No—no answer."
As the man retired, letting the heavy draperies fall behind him, Roy threw the telegram into Cleo's lap.
"There!" he cried, "read that. The divorce is granted! I am a free man! Now what is your answer?"
He bent eagerly over her. She perused the despatch and then calmly passed it back:
