“We might lunch together early next week. I know a nice little place on Seventh Avenue where you get fine spaghetti. We––”
“I’m booked for a whole month of luncheons,” said Butler, sitting back on his heels to stare at this impossible person. “Can’t join you.”
“Some other time, then,” said Harvey, waving his hand genially. “Your wife home yet?”
Butler got upon his feet.
“Say,” said he, aggressively, “do you know she’s heard about that idiotic trip of mine to town that night? Fairfax told everybody, and 101 somebody’s wife told Mrs. Butler. It got me in a devil of a mess.”
“You don’t say so!”
“Yes, I do say so. Next time you catch me—But, what’s the use?” He turned to his work with an expressive shrug of his shoulders.
“I’ll have my wife explain everything to Mrs. Butler the first time she comes out,” said Harvey, more bravely than he felt. He could not help wondering when Nellie would come out.
“It isn’t necessary,” Butler made haste to assure him.
Harvey was silent for a moment.