The doctor chuckled. Floyd Garrison, spoilt child of Fortune, husband of the prettiest woman of New York’s pretty women, belonging to an exclusive set, the happy father of a fine boy, and here comes this child of the gutter and calls him ‘a poor man.’ Ha! Ha!
“The house is going to ruin, the food spoilt; the butler steals his neckties, stockings, handkerchiefs; the cook falsifies the bills.”
“Well, how can we cure that?”
“By reforming the household; would it appear obtrusive?”
“I don’t know, but he’s a nice fellow and you might try.”
“Thanks, that’s what I came for. I want to make you my partner in crime.”
“Wretch.” He flung a writing pad at her, which she dodged with great dexterity, and flew out.
That night the dinner was uneatable. Floyd looked helpless.
“Things are going badly, since my wife’s illness.”
Here was Mary’s chance.