He set himself to the fascinating task of making Camilla's eyes shine with excitement,—but he did not seem to succeed,—over the subject of a moon-shaped Boulevard, strung with parks, like a necklace around a lady's throat.
“I worked out that figure of speech for you, Milly. It's a beauty. Port Argent is the lady. A necklace ought to raise her self-respect. She'll have three hundred acres of brooch in the middle called Wabash Park. She's eight miles on the curve from shoulder to shoulder. I walked it today. It struck me she needed washing and drying.”
True, Camilla's indignation seemed to fade away. She said, “That's tremendously nice, Dick,” and stared into the fire with absent wistful eyes.
He drew nearer her and spoke lower, “Milly.”
“No, no! Don't begin on that!”
Presently he was striding up Lower Bank Street, hot-hearted with his disappointment.
“Well, Port Argent shall have her necklace, anyhow. Maybe I shan't. But I will, though!”
He went through the Court House Square past the old jail, glanced up under the trees at Hicks' barred window.
“Aidee's getting a black eye too in there,” he thought. “That's too bad.”
When he reached his rooms he was already thinking of Macclesfield's bridge.