"No good at all—but——"
"I told Gladys she would regret having Porshinger to Criss-Cross. It's all due to that Sunday, damn it!"
"I don't think so," Pendleton said, with a shake of his head. "It may have accelerated it by a few weeks—Porshinger was sure to get in anyway."
"Get in! Of course he would get in!" Devereux exclaimed. "But he wouldn't have come in through the Chamberlain doorway—nor have had any opportunity to know Stephanie well. I can't see what Gladys meant by it—and yet she must have had some object. She is the last to do things on impulse."
"Here she comes—you might ask her," Pendleton remarked, as Miss Chamberlain appeared on the piazza through one of the low French-windows.
Both men arose and bowed.
"May I sit down?" she said. "I'm tired out and—thirsty. Get me some tea, please—and some toast, the soft kind." She removed her gloves and put up her veil. "It is charming here."
"Now it is!" said Devereux.
"Warwick," she smiled, "I've long ago learned that when you flatter you want something! What is it? Out with it."