"I really don't mean it as gossip," said Mrs. Ratchett, as the men vanished into the house. "I'm interested in Mr. Vane. He seems more rational and cleaner-cut than the American cubs one sees over here as a rule; and if he's only going to go the way of the rest of them—if there's a woman in the case—"
Mrs. Carnby shrugged her shoulders. "Andrew Vane has been in Paris for ten weeks," she said. "I think it not improbable that Paris will be in Andrew Vane for the rest of his natural life."
"Then there is a woman in the case!" exclaimed Mrs. Ratchett.
"So you say, my dear."
Mrs. Ratchett's pointed slipper began to beat an impatient tattoo on the grass.
"Could anything be more ludicrous than for us two to beat about the bush in this fashion?" she broke out, after a moment. "You know perfectly what I mean, Louisa—what one always means, in short, by 'a woman in the case'!"
"Yes, of course I know," agreed Mrs. Carnby frankly. "The women one speaks of as being in cases are always more or less disreputable. Well, there is a woman in the case of our young friend—and a very engaging woman at that."
"Engaging appears to be a habit with Mr. Vane's flames," said Mrs. Ratchett. "It's a little hard on the one in America. And pray where did you see her?—the other, I mean."
"Oh, here, there, and everywhere. Vane made the mistake, at first, of trying to carry on his little affair sub rosa. People are always seen when they try not to be, you know. Lately, I believe, they've been going about quite openly, so it has been almost impossible to keep track of them."
"But how do you arrive at the conclusion that the lady—"