He was stirred out of these reflections by a silence which had all the effect of a disturbing sound. He came back to the immediate present. Isabel still sat on the step, a dainty figure in a blue sweater and pleated tan skirt, staring after Andy's retreating figure.
"Your right bower," she said complainingly, turning to meet Rod's gaze, "is the stupidest man I know."
"You're a mile off the mark," Rod contradicted.
"He is," she repeated. "He's afraid of me."
"Andy Hall," Rod answered dryly, "is not afraid of anything or any one, least of all a harmless person like you."
"He's in love with me," Isabel said coolly. "And he's so afraid of me that he hasn't sense enough to see that all he has to do is to hold out his hands and I'll fall into 'em like a—a ripe plum. Can't you give him a hint, Rod?"
"Haven't you scalps enough at your belt without Andy's?"
"If I give him mine in exchange, that's fair enough," Isabel murmured.
"Do you really mean that?" Rod asked.
Isabel got out her cigarette case and deliberately blew smoke rings before she replied.