“Elinor Benton!” was the exclamation he heard. “You can’t be serious. She’d never fall for that fourflusher, Druid.”
“But I tell you they’re everywhere together,” the other replied. “I meet them driving in the park nearly every day, she at the wheel, and often his arm about her. I’ve seen them coming out of inns and roadhouses, rather questionable ones too—if you’ll take it from me. I’m surprised her people stand for it.”
“Perhaps they don’t know anything about it, and if they do, they may look upon it as a harmless flirtation.”
“Harmless flirtation!” The man laughed. “Knowing Druid as well as you do, I can’t see how you could ever imagine a flirtation with him harmless.”
“Oh—well then,” came the answer, “maybe he intends to marry her. He could do a lot worse, you know, than to fall in for some of the Benton money.”
“I agree with you, and no doubt he does too, but I know it will take some time before he is free. His wife is suing him for divorce now.”
“What!” the other exclaimed. “I never knew he had a wife.”
“It isn’t generally known for business reasons. Those theater chappies consider him a more profitable investment unmarried. I happen to know, though, that he married a little chorus girl about six years ago somewhere in the Middle West.”
“Where is she now?”
“They couldn’t get along together, so,”—and outspread hands finished the sentence. “She’s out on the Coast now, working in pictures, and is interested in someone else—hence, the divorce proceedings.”