“It wasn’t necessary to lie.”
“She thought it was.”
“Where did she go?” His eyes narrowed.
Sue shook her head smiling. “Have you any right to know, Phil? Now, think?”
“No. But you remember Elizabeth Carlton’s nasty hint? I spoke of it. Is it possible——” He turned away impatiently.
“Listen, Phil,” she begged. “I’ll ask Genevieve about it, and then tell you what she says. She’ll explain it all satisfactorily, I’m sure. The dear girl is so worried to-day, Phil, she’s likely to say almost anything. Seven hundred is a lot to lose.”
“Oh, never mind asking her,” said Phil. “I suppose you’re right.” He chose a racquet and played until early twilight. Then, bareheaded and smiling once more, he went chugging away down the drive.
Larry met him as he turned in at the gate of his own estate. The man was not in his wonted livery, but was outward bound along the drive, dressed in a Sixth Avenue copy of Phil’s newest Fifth Avenue lounge suit—a copy that had exaggerated scallops cut out of cuffs and pocket-flaps. “I’ve got news, sir,” he announced, holding up a hand.
“News?—about what, Larry? Jump in.” The car came to a stop under the arc-light at the gate.
“Jim come home from Hadbury at six, sir,” began Larry, his red face blowzier than usual and his eyes wide with excitement; “and he says to me, ‘Larry, the Princess’ (that’s what we call Miss Unger, sir)—‘the Princess lost seven hunderd-dollar bills at the Hadbury polo-grounds to-day.’ I kicked my heels clean into the air, sir, I was that happy——”