Jack Dinneford on the opposite sofa had stronger warrant for his emotions. This girl whom he had first seen in New York before the news of a great inheritance had come to him, whom he had since viewed ten times from the stalls of the Frivolity Theater, was a personality. There was no doubt about that. And as he discovered at once their minds marched together. They saw men and events at the same angle. A phrase of either would draw forth an instant counterpart; in five minutes they had turned the whole universe into mockery, but without letting go of the fact that they were complete strangers colloguing for the first time.
Mrs. Wren withdrew presently on the pretext that she had letters to write. A very pleasant hour quickly sped. Each of these four people was in the mood to enjoy. Life in spite of its hazards, was no bad thing at the moment. Wrexham, a thorough gentleman, was an immensely likeable young man. And while he basked in present happiness a certain resolution began to take shape in his mind.
As for Jack Dinneford at the other side of the room, his thoughts followed a humbler course. But he was an elemental, a very dangerous fellow if once he began to play with ideas. At present he suffered from the drawback of being no more than the nephew of his uncle; therefore his sensations were not exactly those of Wrexham, who was a natural caster of the handkerchief. But in this fatal hour Jack was heavily smitten.
He had met few girls in his twenty-four years of existence. In his naïf way he confessed as much to Miss Lawrence. She was amused by the confession and led him to make others. This was easy because he liked
