"I'm sure he would have been here this afternoon if he possibly could," Rodrigo insisted. He bade them both good-bye, adding, "At four on next Thursday then."
Outside the sun had been driven under cover by gray clouds. The bright May afternoon had turned raw and a brisk wind whipped up Fifth Avenue. Rodrigo greeted the penetrating cold with pleasure. He set off on foot down the sidewalk, alongside the tumultuous sea of home-going motors and omnibuses, at a rapid pace. He had the feeling of having escaped from a close, perfumed atmosphere fraught with peril. He tried to laugh at himself for styling Mrs. Porter Palmer's party thus. It was Elise Van Zile who had changed the atmosphere. He needed a refreshing in the late afternoon open air.
When he reached the austere entrance to Dorning and Son he paused and went in, though it was nearly six o'clock. He opened the door to John's office and found it empty. From the open door of Mary Drake's alcove came the sound of a typewriter, and he strode to her doorway. She greeted him in a friendly fashion. Indeed Rodrigo, if he had been looking for it, might have caught something more than friendship in her shy, pleased acknowledgment of his unexpected presence. He sank down with a sigh in the chair beside her desk, transferred his hat and stick to the clothes-tree, and lighted a cigarette.
It had suddenly occurred to him that it was very pleasant indeed sitting here alone resting with Mary Drake—Mary, who was just as beautiful as Elise, though in a far different way; wholesome, efficient, good pal Mary.
"Where's John?" he asked.
"He went away with Mr. Rosner. He said he probably wouldn't be back this afternoon."
"Did they come to terms about the vase?"
"Yes, John sold it to him for five thousand dollars which is three thousand dollars less than it is worth, as you know. But that's John for you. Poor Mr. Rosner was half-crazy with anxiety. It seems this man who owned the other vase is a Tartar to deal with. He insisted upon full restitution for the theft, and Mr. Rosner did not have a cent of insurance. In a way, Rodrigo, it would have been a Godsend if John hadn't sold him the vase."
"Mary, I didn't realize you were so hard-hearted," Rodrigo bantered.
"Well, if Mr. Rosner couldn't have replaced the stolen property, he would have had to go out of business, I guess. And that would have been the best thing in the world for him. I visited his shop the other noon, Rodrigo, and it is a mess. He will never succeed. The shop is too small, dark and unprepossessing. His choice of stock has been abominable—a lot of shoddy originals that nobody wants to buy, mixed in with palpable fakes that wouldn't deceive the most ignorant amateur collector. And Mr. Rosner is an irritating, stubborn person, the worst possible type of salesman in this business."