"Do I hear you setting yourself up to judge him, Bel?"
"Do you know anybody better qualified?"
"By what right——"
"The husband's right! Do you think I want every paper in the country linking your name—my wife's—with Lynn Summerlad's as his latest mistress, the woman who made his deserted wife so jealous she tried to murder him?"
Lucinda let her wrap fall. "If my relationship to Lynn is what you imply—then my place is here with him."
"Please yourself. But remember, the papers are going to make big capital out of this scandal in the movie colony. They've been itching for it for years, licking their chops with impatience, knowing it was bound to break some day.... Good God! what's got into you, Linda? How long do you imagine it'll be, after this affair gets into print, before the reporters will ferret out the fact that 'Linda Lee' is Mrs. Bellamy Druce? Do you want to go into a witness-box and testify against that demented creature when she's tried for murder? Do you want everybody who knows you—all your friends back home—to think what everybody in his sane mind has every right to think?"
"What you think...."
"What the devil do you care what I think? But if it comes to that, tell me this: If you aren't what people are going to say you are, what are you doing here, alone with Summerlad, in his own home, at night?"
"The Lontaines were coming to dinner, but——"
"'But'!" Bel snorted. "Oh, all right! I'll be a high-minded ass, if that'll satisfy you; I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, if that'll induce you to clear out of this before it's too late. But don't forget I'm the only one who will. His wife wouldn't—didn't. Neither will another living soul who knows you were here when this thing happened. Your only salvation now is to get back to the hotel and lie low; if you hear any rumours, be as much surprised as anybody; if you're asked any questions, know absolutely nothing. If you'll do that, and leave the rest to me, perhaps I can save you."