“Intimate friend, I should judge.”
“She turned pink as a carnation.”
“Say hollyhock,” suggested Anthony, “or peony. Only a vivid colour could do justice to it.”
“That’s right,” groaned Cathcart. “She never looked like that for any of us.”
“Never,” said Anthony promptly, and got away, chuckling.
“Hold on, there, Robeson, man,” said the voice of Dr. Roger Barnes, and Anthony found himself again held up.
“Come on, old Roger boy,” said his host pleasantly. “We’ll amble down the road a bit and give you a chance to get a grip on yourself. No, I don’t know who he is. I’m all worn out assuring Louis and Steve of that. She did turn red, she did look upset—with joy, I infer. That girl has made more havoc in one short week—playing off all the while, too—than Suzanne and Marie have accomplished in the biggest season they ever knew. And I believe, Roger boy, you’re about the hardest hit of any of them.”
The doctor did not answer. The two had walked away from the house and were marching arm in arm at a good pace down the road.
“She’s as poor as a church mouse,” suggested Anthony.
There was no reply.