“But you didn’t do it.”

“No.  That is, I haven’t yet.  You see, Corliss explained to me that——­”

His friend interrupted him with a sour laugh.  “Oh, certainly!  He’s one of the greatest explainers ever welcomed to our city!”

Richard said mildly:  “And then, Ray, once I’ve gone into a thing I—­I don’t like to seem suspicious.”

“Poor old Dick!” returned Vilas compassionately.  “You kind, easy, sincere men are so conscientiously untruthful with yourselves.  You know in your heart that Cora would be furious with you if you seemed suspicious, and she’s been so nice to you since you put in your savings to please her, that you can’t bear to risk offending her.  She’s twisted you around her little finger, and the unnamed fear that haunts you is that you won’t be allowed to stay there—­even twisted!”

“Pretty decorations, Ray,” said Richard; but he grew very red.

“Do you know what you’ll do,” asked Ray, regarding him keenly, “if this Don Giovanni from Sunny It’ is shown up as a plain get-rich-quick swindler?”

“I haven’t considered——­”

“You would do precisely,” said Ray, “nothing!  Cora’d see to that.  You’d sigh and go to work again, beginning at the beginning where you were years ago, and doing it all over.  Admirable resignation, but not for me!  I’m a stockholder in his company and in shape to `take steps’!  I don’t know if I’d be patient enough to make them legal—­perhaps I should.  He may be safe on the legal side.  I’ll know more about that when I find out if there is a Prince Moliterno in Naples who owns land in Basilicata.”

“You don’t doubt it?”

“I doubt everything!  In this particular matter I’ll have less to doubt when I get an answer from the consul-general. I’ve written, you see.”

Lindley looked disturbed.  “You have?”

Vilas read him at a glance.  “You’re afraid to find out!” he cried.  Then he set his hand on the other’s shoulder.  “If there ever was a God’s fool, it’s you, Dick Lindley.  Really, I wonder the world hasn’t kicked you around more than it has; you’d never kick back!  You’re as easy as an old shoe.  Cora makes you unhappy,” he went on, and with the very mention of her name, his voice shook with passion,—­“but on my soul I don’t believe you know what jealousy means:  you don’t even understand hate; you don’t eat your heart——­”

“Let’s go and eat something better,” suggested Richard, laughing.  “There’s a continuous supper downstairs and I hear it’s very good.”

Ray smiled, rescued for a second from himself.  “There isn’t anything better than your heart, you old window-pane, and I’m glad you don’t eat it.  And if I ever mix it up with Don Giovanni T. Corliss—­`T’ stands for Toreador—­I do believe it’ll be partly on your——­” He paused, leaving the sentence unfinished, as his attention was caught by the abysmal attitude of a figure in another part of the gallery:  Mr. Wade Trumble, alone in a corner, sitting upon the small of his small back, munching at an unlighted cigar and otherwise manifesting a biting gloom.  Ray drew Lindley’s attention to this tableau of pain.  “Here’s a three of us!” he said.  He turned to look down into the rhythmic kaleidoscope of dancers.  “And there goes the girl we all ought to be morbid about.”