"Howjdo," she said languidly, when Mellin's name was pronounced to her.
"There's a man behind you tryin' to give you something to drink."
"Who was it said these were Martinis?" snorted Pedlow. "They've got
perfumery in 'em."
"Ah, what a bad lion it is!" Madame de Vaurigard lifted both hands in
mock horror. "Roar, lion, roar!" she cried. "An' think of the emotion of
our good Cavaliere Corni, who have come an hour early jus' to make them
for us! I ask Monsieur Mellin if it is not good."
"And I'll leave it to Cooley," said Pedlow. "If he can drink all of his
I'll eat crow!"
Thus challenged, the two young men smilingly accepted glasses from the
waiter, and lifted them on high.
"Same toast," said Cooley. "Queen!"
_"A la belle Marquise!"_
Gallantly they drained the glasses at a gulp, and Madame de Vaurigard
clapped her hands.
"Bravo!" she cried. "You see? Corni and I, we win."
"Look at their faces!" said Mr. Pedlow, tactlessly drawing attention to
what was, for the moment, an undeniably painful sight. "Don't tell me an
Italian knows how to make a good Martini!"
Mellin profoundly agreed, but, as he joined the small procession to the
Countess' dinner-table, he was certain that an Italian at least knew how
to make a strong one.
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