was like having one of her gloves or her fan. He would keep it forever,
he thought; indeed, he more than half expressed a sentiment to that
effect in the response which he wrote in the aquarium, while Sneyd
waited for him at a table near by. The Englishman drew certain
conclusions in regard to this reply, since it permitted a waiting
friend to consume three long tumblers of brandy-and-soda before it was
finished. However, Mr. Sneyd kept his reflections to himself, and, when
the epistle had been dispatched by a messenger, took the American's
arm and led him to the "American Bar" of the hotel, a region hitherto
unexplored by Mellin.

Leaning against the bar were Cooley and the man whom Mellin had seen
lolling beside Madame de Vaurigard in Cooley's automobile in Paris,
the same gross person for whom he had instantly conceived a strong
repugnance, a feeling not at once altered by a closer view.

Cooley greeted Mellin uproariously and Mr. Sneyd introduced the fat man.
"Mr. Mellin, the Honorable Chandler Pedlow," he said; nor was the shock
to the first-named gentleman lessened by young Cooley's adding, "Best
feller in the world!"

Mr. Pedlow's eyes were sheltered so deeply beneath florid rolls of flesh
that all one saw of them was an inscrutable gleam of blue; but, small
though they were, they were not shifty, for they met Mellin's with a
squareness that was almost brutal. He offered a fat paw, wet by a full
glass which he set down too suddenly on the bar.

"Shake," he said, in a loud and husky voice, "and be friends! Tommy," he
added to the attendant, "another round of Martinis."