"You might have known Peter Creighton is never as idle as he looks," commented Jean Krech, when she had listened to the tale of Latimer. "He probably has a dozen more irons in the fire that you don't dream of. I suppose you're going over there now?"
"Uh-huh. There's always a chance he may have some news."
"Well, it's all right for you to drop in and ask," said Jean calmly. "But—don't linger, melove, don't linger!"
"Huh? What do you mean, don't linger? Why not?"
"You blind old goose! Has it ever struck you that Creighton is a rather lonely man?"
"Lonely?" Then the significance of her question suddenly hit him between the eyes. "Gee Joseph! Are you trying to promote a romance between him and Miss Ocky?"
"Precious little promotion is required," she corrected him. "It's as plain as the nose on your face how things are going." She laughed when her husband in his bewilderment reached up and felt of the promontory indicated. "Yes, it's very plain!"
"But they've only known each other a week or so!"
"What of it? They're old enough to know their own minds—both in the early forties. Neither of them has ever had a love-affair as far as we know; probably it hits them harder and quicker when they're like that!"
"Maybe you're right." Krech reflected deeply, and then nodded his head. "Suits me! I like her immensely, and of course he'd be a whole lot happier if he were married. Any man is."