He spoke softly, tersely. The conversation was very brief. Within a minute after he had hung up the receiver three grimy-clad, grim-visaged men left the place silently.
Harry and Lucille came out of the conservatory.
"I tell you there wasn't anything said between us that could have caused it," he was saying. "I was fighting the whole thing hard, but I was fighting it like a beggar. I am always a beggar with Pauline."
"But you told her it wasn't right that she was risking other people's lives?"
"No, I told you to tell her that."
In spite of her distress over Pauline's coldness, Lucille burst into laughter.
They were just emerging into the music room. Pauline, like the others, turned at the unexpected sound. She gave one glance at the two and turned haughtily away.
Baskinelli was bustling about, making up an impromptu excursion party.
"Ha! You people of New York—you do not know what is in New York. All Europe is here—and you never cross Fourteenth street—I mean to say Fifth avenue."
"It is more dangerous to cross Fifth avenue than to cross the ocean— that's probably the reason," said Harry. "The traffic cops along the Gulf Stream are so careful."