“No, I wouldn’t. He might have thought that I deliberately tried to see him. Anyway I don’t want to see him. I was only curious. Don’t speak about him again, even if I ask. I want to forget him.”
Ruth went out with thoughts more conflicting than before. One moment she thought she detected in Gloria a sentimental interest in her former husband; the next she appeared to hate him, and apparently there was no hope of persuading her to send George away. She went to the restaurant on Eighth Avenue for lunch, where she met Nels and Dorothy.
“What do you think?” said Nels. “I just heard that Professor Pendragon is ill—paralysis or something like that, and he certainly looked well last night. I can’t understand it.”
“The news doesn’t seem to have affected your appetite any,” said Dorothy.
“Certainly not—must keep up steam. Shouldn’t wonder if that was why he’s ill. He never eats anything much. One can’t paint greatly unless one eats greatly.”
“When did he get ill, and how?” asked Ruth.
“When he went home from the show last night—It’s extraordinary because he’s never been troubled that way and he was quite well just a short time before.”
Ruth was thinking of George and of all the old tales she had ever heard of the evil eye and black magic. She was thinking of these things with one part of her brain, while with another part she scoffed at herself for being a superstitious, silly fool. If only Amy hadn’t persuaded her to look through the keyhole.
“I’m going to go and see him tomorrow afternoon,” said Nels. “I’d go today, but I have to work.”
“Take us with you,” said Dorothy. “He invited us to tea anyway and he seemed to be interested in Ruth.”