"I did want to see you," I put in awkwardly. "It has been a long time—"
"I'll spare you the necessity for explanations. You're here to tell me that Jerry is drinking and to find out why. Isn't that so?"
I could only stare at her in wonder at her intuitions, and made some remark which she chose to disregard.
"As I predicted, the disease is passing," she said quietly, "but it's leaving Marcia first. Three weeks ago Jerry was a god to Marcia. Last week she showed signs of disenchantment. This week she is plainly bored."
"I guessed as much. But why?"
She shrugged her shoulders expressively, but having gone so far I was not there to waste words.
"I know. Her idol fell in Madison Square Garden, a bone-and-muscle idol, Miss Gore."
She remained silent, examining her embroidery with a critical eye.
"You know that that is true," I asserted.
"Idols are as easily made as shattered for Marcia. She may adore him again next week."