Rachel's face sobered.
"Why, there's nothing Frank—of interest."
"Hell, I've caught you crying over him."
"Well, what of that? A woman's tears, you know, a woman's tears, don't mean anything."
"They don't, eh?"
"No." The sight of him hunched amid the cushions seemed to appeal to her humor. A large, strong monkey face against blue, green, and yellow pillow faces. She laughed.
"Well, I'll tell you something. There's going to be no soul stuff in this. You're mine. And if you start any flapdoodle hand-holding with our good friend, I'll knock your heads together into a pulp."
He raised his large shoulders and glowered majestically. Rachel, paused beside a canvas, regarded him with half-closed eyes and smiling lips.
"He sent his kindest wishes to you."
Brander left his seat and strode toward her.