The soup was bisque, and the wine Pommery, and the courses followed each other with the usual regularity until Eugene brought coffee, and there was nothing left on the table but a small silver lamp.

“Valentine,” said Clifford, after having obtained permission to smoke, “is it the Vaudeville or the Eldorado⁠—or both, or the Nouveau Cirque, or⁠—”

“It is here,” said Valentine.

“Well,” he said, greatly flattered, “I’m afraid I couldn’t amuse you⁠—”

“Oh, yes, you are funnier than the Eldorado.”

“Now see here, don’t guy me, Valentine. You always do, and, and⁠—you know what they say⁠—a good laugh kills⁠—”

“What?”

“Er⁠—er⁠—love and all that.”