The orange mouth widened into a long smile.
"No," said the dancer. "I have been at work."
She flung out a long, pale hand towards the piano, which was littered with untidy music scores.
"Ambrose has been here. He has been playing me the new Opera."
Kettering nodded without paying much attention. He was profoundly uninterested in Claud Ambrose and the latter's operatic setting of Ibsen's Peer Gynt. So was Mirelle, for that matter, regarding it merely as a unique opportunity for her own presentation as Anitra.
"It is a marvellous dance," she murmured. "I shall put all the passion of the desert into it. I shall dance hung over with jewels—ah! and, by the way, mon ami, there is a pearl that I saw yesterday in Bond Street—a black pearl."
She paused, looking at him invitingly.
"My dear girl," said Kettering, "it's no use talking of black pearls to me. At the present minute, as far as I am concerned, the fat is in the fire."
She was quick to respond to his tone. She sat up, her big black eyes widening.
"What is that you say, Dereek? What has happened?"
"My esteemed father-in-law," said Kettering, "is preparing to go off the deep-end."
"Eh?"
"In other words, he wants Ruth to divorce me."
"How stupid!" said Mirelle. "Why should she want to divorce you?"
Derek Kettering grinned.
