“Van Naghel is. . .”
“Van Naghel is what?”
“Van Naghel is . . . very much put out. I can’t understand how he can play bridge.”
“What is he put out about?”
“About you.”
“About me?”
“Yes, about you.”
“I’m sorry, Bertha!” said Constance, coolly. “What have I done wrong?”
“Of course, it’s not your fault, about those articles. But the first was exceedingly unpleasant for Van Naghel . . .”
“And the second I haven’t read,” said Constance, coldly.
“No,” Paul broke in, “I advised Constance not to read it.”
“And I don’t mean to read it: it has ceased to interest me. Is Van Naghel put out by that article about me?”
“He’s put out by the visit . . .”
“The visit . . .?”
“The visit you paid me, on Tuesday.”
“Is Van Naghel put out by a visit which I paid you on Tuesday?” asked Constance, very contemptuously, in surprise.
“You ought not to have come on my day.”
“I ought not to have . . .?”
“Don’t be angry, Constance: I have had such a scene with my husband as it is! Don’t be angry, for Heaven’s sake! Don’t misunderstand me. I
