Mary, who was never one for groping about in the dark, replied, "A girl by the name of Sophie Binner was in this morning. She asked for you. When she found you weren't here, she grew quite loud and troublesome, and Mr. Madison referred her to John. I couldn't help but hear some of the conversation between them, though I left when I discovered its private nature."
"Sophie Binner?" he repeated, screwing his forehead into a frown. "But I haven't seen her for several months. She is an actress I knew in England—and, for a short time, here. But she has been on the road with her company, and I haven't even written to her."
"You must have written to her some time or other."
"Why, what do you mean, Mary?" He had never seen the usually calm and capable Mary agitated so. It agitated him in turn. Sophie was not above making trouble, he knew, especially after the unfriendly manner of their last parting.
"I don't want you to question me any further, Rodrigo," said Mary nervously. "I have told you quite all I know. You will have to get the rest from John. Probably he won't mention it to you. He hates trouble of all kinds—particularly sordid troubles—and he will be anxious to shield you. And I think you shouldn't allow yourself to be shielded, in this case."
"Certainly not. I'll ask him what happened at once."
But Rodrigo did not have the opportunity to broach the subject of Sophie to his partner during the remainder of the day. John did not return from his luncheon engagement until after three, when he hurried in breezily, a carnation in his buttonhole and a flush upon his face that caused the employees out in the gallery to look significantly at each other and smile approvingly. The head of the concern had never looked so happy. John closeted himself at once with a couple of art buyers who acted in the capacity of scouts for Dorning and Son. By the time Rodrigo judged Dorning was free and went in search of him, John had again disappeared, this time, Mary said, to dress for dinner.
Rodrigo found John in their apartment, arrayed in his evening clothes, administering the final touches to his necktie. The Italian told himself a little ironically that Elise Van Zile had reversed the social order of the day in their lodgings—now it was John who was donning festive attire almost every evening and setting out upon social expeditions, and Rodrigo who was left home to settle in a chair with a book. Formerly it had been the reverse. Rodrigo remarked banteringly about this.
"But I have such a wonderful reason for deserting you," John cried. "How she ever happened to decide to like me, when you were available, Rodrigo, I don't know. She is such a beautiful creature—she could have the pick of all the men in the world. And she's just as sweet as she is beautiful. You don't think that I deliberately went out to oust you from her affections, do you, Rodrigo?" John spoke so earnestly that Rodrigo gave a short laugh of reassurance. But there was a note of anxious pity in it also. Poor old John.
"I understand that you saw another friend of mine to-day, also," Rodrigo said, lighting a cigarette and flicking the match into the open grate.