To Judy’s amazement, the bird kept still.
“So you’ve finally decided on a name for him?” she asked her brother. “But why Plato?”
“Why not?” Horace asked. “Most of his chattering is Greek to me. Honey suggested the name. You know how I feel about her, Judy. But if she’s in love with her art work, where do I fit in?”
“I’m afraid, Horace, that she thinks of you as a brother,” Judy told him. “After all, she is my sister. I wished for her in the fountain, and my wish came true.”
“Actually,” Horace pointed out, “she is your sister-in-law, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be a great big cooperative brother to both of you if that’s the way she wants it. Art before love, as the saying goes. By the way,” he asked more curiously, “how does Honey operate this air-brush machine?”
“She doesn’t know,” Judy replied. “That’s why she’s so eager to learn. She told me the kind of picture it paints. It gives a nice spattered effect like—like the spray from a fountain.”
Everything reminded her of fountains. Later, as they drove through Farringdon and on toward the Brandt estate, they talked of little else.
“We’ll see what haunts your fountain, and then I’ll take you on home. This may not be much of a story, sis. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”
“I won’t be. I’m more interested in what’s bothering Lorraine. Something has made her really unhappy,” Judy declared. “You and I both know Arthur wouldn’t do anything dishonest. Why should Lorraine, who’s supposed to be in love with him, even suggest that he might be a cheat?”
“Did she?” Horace looked almost too interested.