Frederika was laying a small table with the breakfast-paraphernalia.
Will you have some coffee, Fannie? Campaspe queried.
Thanks, no. I shall never eat again. How's your father? Not that I care.
Campaspe smiled. I don't know, Fannie. You know I never see him.
Alice? Mrs. Blake made a wry face.
Oh! Alice married.
I heard something. . . . Mrs. Blake's face assumed a vague expression. . . . I think she wrote me.
Campaspe sipped her coffee. He left her a month later, she announced.
Mrs. Blake looked annoyed. Why didn't you let me know? I would have cabled Bravo to the boy. What a dreadfully priggish little snob Alice is! Where is the boy now? I'd like to meet him.
I don't know where he is, said Campaspe.
Mrs. Blake shook out her monkey-fur muff. Well, I shan't see Alice or your father. I doubt if I see anybody but you, dear 'paspe. I only came over to consult my lawyer. I expect to sail Saturday. The present rate of exchange makes it more convenient for me to live in Paris. Besides, you know, I don't like New York. . . . She paused for a moment. . . . I'm going to be married, 'paspe dearest.
Fannie!
