"Oh," said Barbara, "is it good enough? She'd communicate with him somehow. This isn't the Middle Ages. Marion, if by any chance any of my things have gotten mixed with yours, please leave them on my dressing-table."
Marion, very red in the face, lurched out of the room.
"I can't very well give her a character," said Barbara.
Lichtenstein laughed. "Plenty of worse girls," he said, "receive excellent characters daily. And now I suppose I ought to put distance between this house and myself."
Barbara lifted her eyebrows. "Why?"
"Why? She's probably working the telephone now."
"I know," said Barbara, "but if you pretend to go, and then come back, this would be the last home in the world that Blizzard would suspect you of hiding in. Marion will tell him her story. And he certainly won't look for you here."
Lichtenstein's face was wreathed in smiles, "So be it," he said, "and I shall sit at your feet to learn."
"Can you drive a car?" asked Barbara.
"What kind of a car?"