“Frequently.”
“Ever encounter the clever lady, with the assortment of husbands?”
“Once or twice. Moreover, having known her as a little girl, and her family before her, I’ve been interested to watch her travelling—her remarkable career. And it has been a career, Clarke; believe me, it’s been a career. For pure cleverness, and the appreciation of opportunities with the ability to grasp them, the devil himself can’t show anything more picturesque. My hat’s off to her!”
“I should like to meet her,” Clarke said.
“Come to Paris, sometime when I’m there, and I’ll be delighted to present you to her.”
“Doesn’t she ever come to America?”
“I think not. She says the Continent, and Paris in particular, is good enough for her.”
Harleston left Clarke at Dupont Circle and turned down Massachusetts Avenue.
The broad thoroughfare was deserted, yet at the intersection of Eighteenth Street he came upon a most singular sight.
A cab was by the curb, its horse lying prostrate on the asphalt, its box vacant of driver.