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"Good night, old chap," said Martin in accents of lively commiseration,
"I'm glad I'm not in for what you are."


CHAPTER IV
ROSALIND STANTON DOESN'T DISAPPEAR

Rodney found a pipe of his that he kept concealed on the premises,
loaded and lighted it, sat down astride a spindling little chair that
looked hardly up to his weight, settled his elbows comfortably on the
back of it, and then asked his sister what Martin had meant--what was he
in for?
Frederica, curled up in a corner of the sofa, finished her own train of
thought aloud, first.
"She's awfully attractive, don't you think? His wife, I mean. Oh, James
Randolph's, of course." She turned to Rodney, looked at him at first
with a wry pucker between her eyebrows, then with a smile, and finally
answered his question. "Nothing," she said. "I mean, I was going to
scold you, but I'm not."
"Why, yes," he admitted through his smoke. "Randolph's wife's a mighty
pretty woman. But I expect that lets her out, doesn't it?"
Frederica shook her head.


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