“He’s a New York lawyer.”
“Oh, a lawyer! Successful?”
I said, “He’s got money to burn. And he isn’t one of the hard-boiled kind that know all the tricks. He specializes on probate work. He’s really a babe in the woods.”
She said, “It’s funny, but I thought there was something in his life — oh, you know what I mean. An aura of misfortune that clings to him. Perhaps he’s unhappily married. That may be it. Domestic troubles.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to that theory. I gathered the impression he’s a wealthy widower.”
“Oh.”
I said, “Here he comes now. Look at the way he’s walking. He’s certainly picking them up and putting them down carefully.”
She laughed and said, “Another gin and Coke and his feet won’t even touch the floor. Look, Donald,” she said hurriedly, “you know that girl I was talking to you about?”
“You mean Rosalind?”
“Yes.”