"'H. Robinson, private detective, 10 Smith Street, Boston. All communications strictly confidential. Secret and expeditious service.'"
Mrs. White was in the dark, and without a word returned the newspaper to him.
"Now, what does a young lady in Chelda Gastonguay's position want with a thing like that?" he asked, severely.
"Perhaps she didn't want it."
"She did. The paper was addressed to her. She cut the ad. out. I'll shift my ground a little, Hippy. What makes this same young lady come to this house so much?"
"I'm sure I don't know," replied his wife, with some warmth. "She don't like me."
"Does she come here to look at my lovely countenance?"
His wife's face was a study. She tried not to express resentment, she tried to think graciously of the absent Chelda, but her effort was not crowned with success.
"You feel just the least little bit mad with her, Hippy, don't you?" asked Captain White, kindly, "because she don't treat your husband as if he was king of this castle."
Mrs. White did not speak, but her hand again encircled his arched and aristocratic instep, and this time she was not checked.