Van Duyn set his glass on the table with a crash that broke it, then rose with an oath.
“Think I’m going to listen to that rubbish?” he muttered. “Who cares what happened to Gallatin? I don’t, for one. As for Percy, he’s a lyin’, little gossipin’ Pharisee. I don’t believe there was any girl——”
“But Gallatin admits it.”
“D—— Gallatin!” he roared.
Worthington looked up in surprise, but rose and kicked his trousers legs into their immaculate creases.
“Oh, if you feel that way about it—” He took up his silk hat and brushed it with his coat sleeve. “I think I’ll be toddling along.”
“Oh, don’t get peevish, Bibby. You like Phil Gallatin. Well, I don’t. Always too d—— starchy for me anyway.” He paused at the table in the library while he filled his cigarette case from a silver box. Then he examined Worthington’s face. “You didn’t hear the girl’s name mentioned, did you?” he asked carelessly.
“Oh, no, even Gallatin didn’t know it.” Worthington had put on his hat and was making for the door. “Of course it doesn’t matter anyway.”
Van Duyn followed, his man helping them into their overcoats.
“Can’t drop you anywhere, can I, Bibby? I’ve got the machine below.”