"Eyes red? Hair in strings? Lips blue?"
"All that," he said, "and skin somewhat mottled. But I was not so much interested in your beauty as I was in trying to determine whether you were well enough to stand two shocks."
"I need them," replied Gladys.
"One is rather unpleasant, the other—the reverse, in fact a happiness."
"The unpleasant first, please."
"Certainly," he replied. "Always the medicine first, then the candy." And he leaned back and closed his eyes and seemed to be settling himself for indefinite silence.
"Go on," she said impatiently. "What's the medicine? A death?"
"I said unpleasant, didn't I? When an enemy dies it's all joy. When a friend passes over to eternal bliss, why, being good Christians, we are not so faithless and selfish as to let the momentary separation distress us."
"But what is it? You're trying to gain time by all this beating about the bush. You ought to know me well enough to know you can speak straight out."
"Fanshaw's suing his wife for divorce—and he names Jack."