"And don't be so d----d slow next time," he snapped. "I'll see the
Count Florian at once."
The old man withdrew timidly, while his master mopped up the ink from
the pot he had broken in his anger.
"Enough to try the devil himself," was the sop that argument offered to
his heated imagination. "She knows I hate Deauville like poison, and of
course it's to Deauville she must go for the honeymoon. And she looks
so confoundedly pretty when she's in a temper--what wonderful eyes
she's got! And when she's angry the curls get all round her ears, and
it's as much as a man can do not to kiss her on the spot. Of course, I
didn't really want her to have opals if she thinks they're unlucky, but
she needn't have insisted that I knew about it and bought them on
purpose to annoy her. Good God! I wish there were no women in the world
sometimes. What a splendid place it would be to live in, and what a
fine time the men would have--for, of course, they are all the
daughters of the devil really, and that's why they make life too hot
for us."
Mr. John entered at this moment showing in the Count, and so a very
cheerful argument was thus cut short.
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