"Of course I do!" he flashed. "Don't I tell you that you know nothing
whatever about her? She is the dearest, sweetest----" etc., etc. And he
continued to trumpet forth the Olympian qualities of the Syren and his
own fervent adoration. I was the only being to whom he had opened his
heart, and, the floodgates being set free, the torrent burst forth in
this tempestuous and incoherent manner. I let him go on, for I thought
it did him good; but his rhapsody added very little to my information.
The lady who had "houp-la'd" her way from Dublin to Yokohama was the
spotless queen of beauty, and Dale was frenziedly, idiotically in love
with her. That was all I could gather. When he had finished, which he
did somewhat abruptly, he threw himself into a chair and took out his
cigarette-case with shaky fingers.
"There. I suppose I've made a damn-fool exhibition of myself," he said,
defiantly. "What have you got to say about it?"
"Precisely," I replied, "what I said before. I'll repeat it, if you
like."
Indeed, what more was there to say for the present about the lunatic
business? I had come to the end of my arguments.
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