Dale's occupation, like Othello's, being gone, as far as I am concerned, Lady Kynnersley has despatched him to Berlin, on her own business, connected, I think, with the International Aid Society.

He is to stay there for a fortnight.
How he proposes to bear the separation from the object of his flame I have not inquired; but if forcible objurgations in the vulgar tongue have any inner significance, I gather that Lady Kynnersley has not employed an enthusiastic agent.
Being thus free to pursue my eumoirous schemes without his intervention, for you cannot talk to a lady for her soul's good when her adorer is gaping at you, I have taken the opportunity to see something of Lola Brandt.
I find I have seen a good deal of her; and it seems not improbable that I shall see considerably more.

Deuce take the woman! On the first afternoon of Dale's absence I paid her my promised visit.
It was a dull day, and the room, lit chiefly by the firelight, happily did not reveal its nerve-racking tastelessness.

Lola Brandt, supple-limbed and lazy-voiced, talked to me from the cushioned depths of her chair.
We lightly touched on Dale's trip to Berlin.

She would miss him terribly.