"Do you write poetry?"

"Oh, not professionally, though it is published. I suppose"--he sipped
his champagne with his head a little to one side as though judging its
quality--"I suppose I 've been more or less a dilettante. I've knocked
about the world a good bit."

"Helene says you're one of these leisure American billionaires like Mr.
Cooley there," she said in her tired voice.

"Oh, none of us are really quite billionaires." He laughed
deprecatingly.

"No, I suppose not--not really. Go on and tell me some more about life
and this distinguished company."

"Hey, folks!" Mr. Pedlow's roar broke in upon this dialogue. "You two
are gittin' mighty thick over there. We're drinking a toast, and you'll
have to break away long enough to join in."

"Queen! That's what she is!" shouted Cooley.

Mellin lifted his glass with the others and drank to Madame de
Vaurigard, but the woman at his side did not change her attitude and
continued to sit with her elbows on the table, her cheek on the back of
her hand, watching him thoughtfully.