She nodded and put the telegram in her pocket. It didn't seem to matter much what the outcome of it was going to be.
"We must all go back on the Galatea to-night," he went on.
"You will alter your plans for me? You will stand by me again?"
He gave a queer sort of laugh. "You didn't call me a sportsman for nothing," he said.
XXXIX
New York again,—tired, hot, irritable New York. A New York in the summer, careless of her appearance like an overworked woman with a too large family and, in consequence, a trifle blowsy, with stringy hair and a rather dirty skirt.
Four cars drove away from the river which lay glistening beneath an afternoon sun.
"Well," said Beatrix, sitting back, "all we need to make the procession really noticeable is a mounted policeman, a band and a banner."
Franklin laughed and looked over his shoulder. Following them came Mrs. Lester Keene alone in all her glory with the smaller cases. Behind her, apparently not on speaking terms, Helene and the valet with a collection of hat and shoe boxes. Finally an open touring car piled high with luggage.
"What tune would you suggest for the band?"