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"Yes," she laughed, "everyone admires her. She was a schoolfellow of
mine--Elma Heath."
"Heath!" I echoed. "Where was she at school with you?"
"At Chichester."
"Long ago?"
"A little over two years."
"She's very beautiful!" I declared, taking up the photograph and
discovering that it bore the name of the same well-known photographer in
New Bond Street as that I had found on the carpet of the _Lola_ in the
Mediterranean.
"Yes. She's really prettier than her photograph. It hardly does her
justice."
"And where is she now?"
"Why are you so very inquisitive, Mr. Gregg?" laughed the handsome girl.
"Have you actually fallen in love with her from her picture?"
"I'm hardly given to that kind of thing, Miss Leithcourt," I answered
with mock severity. "I don't think even my worst enemy could call me a
flirt, could she?"
"No. I will give you your due," she declared. "You never do flirt. That
is why I like you."
"Thanks for your candor, Miss Leithcourt," I said.
"Only," she added, "you seem smitten with Elma's charms.


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