"My wife is the circumstance that has altered my case," Heron replied, in the tone of a man with a grievance.
"So is mine!" returned Justin, in a purposely subdued tone.
"Your—what?"
"My wife. But let's take a walk. Your friend's auto won't be ready to move for some time, I should judge."
The elder man, who had been feeling ill and tired, sprang out of the car with a sudden increase of liveliness. Dolores and Hammersley-Fisher stood with their backs to the two men. Heron's wife turned for a glance, but let them walk away without a question. She was flirting with her host.
Dolores was saying to Hammersley-Fisher: "I dislike Mrs. Roger Sands intensely. I wouldn't dream of going to her house if her husband hadn't at one time done quite a service—legally, I mean—to mine. I don't often talk like this about people I'm going to visit. But if I could tell you the things that woman has done you wouldn't blame me."
To O'Reilly Heron was repeating, as they walked along:
"Your wife, did you say?"
"I did say. But before I go on I've a question or so to ask. You got my wire, advising you to be careful, and hinting that some of the old lot had bobbed up along your life line?"
"Yes. We were out all the afternoon. I found the wire this evening when we got back to Hammersley-Fisher's place to dress for this show at Roger Sands'. Now will you tell me——"