"But what does she do?" Angelica demanded, rather impatiently.
"You wouldn’t believe it, but she’s carrying on with that chauffeur."
"My Gawd!" said Angelica. "Is she really?"
"It’s the worst I’ve ever heard of. Would you believe it? She’s teaching him to play golf. They go out in the country somewhere, where they’re not known. She’s bought him a bag of clubs, and he goes around showing it to all the chauffeurs, and telling them I don’t know what. He’s a liar, and I wouldn’t believe a word he said, but still—well, when you hear a thing right and left—and there’s those clubs and all, and they cost a terrible lot—you can’t help but think she’s a regular bad woman."
But Angelica did help thinking so. She didn’t believe that Mrs. Russell was that sort of bad woman, and the longer she knew her the more convinced she became of her perfect goodness in this one respect. Capable of the most outrageous follies, selfish, hard as flint, quite without scruples in the pursuit of her own liberty and pleasure, she was, however, not interested in men. Angelica said nothing, though, for she had no proofs or surmises to bring forward, nothing but her own instinct.
Annie continued.
"No, I can’t help thinking so. I’m no fool. I’ve seen a lot—you do, working out. It’s a pity, too, on account of Mr. Eddie. He’s a nice young man, and he works himself sick for the lot of them. No one doing a stroke of work but him!"
"Don’t that doctor work?"
"Dr. Russell? He’s a regular old grafter, that’s what he is."
"I saw him putting cigars in his pocket," said Angelica.