"She is," answered Randall promptly. "That is, she's been extremely kind to me. But I haven't known her long. She returned from Europe last month and was interested in French securities. She bought them through my office, because an uncle of mine, who'd been on the boat with her, had mentioned my name. That's all."
The mention of Europe wakened some memory in Clancy.
"She's not the Mrs. Carey, is she? Not the artist who was decorated for bravery——"
Randall nodded.
"I guess she is, but you'd never think it from her talk. She never mentions it, or refers to her work——"
"Have you seen it?" asked Clancy.
"Her paintings? Oh, yes; I've been in her studio. The fact is"—and he colored—"I happened to be the right size, or shape, or something, for a male figure she wanted, and—well," he finished sheepishly, "I posed for her."
Clancy grinned.
"You've never been in the chorus of a musical comedy, have you?"
"No." Randall laughed. "And I won't unless you're in it."