The more praise for Henry Dorning's acumen, Rodrigo had thought, and the more pity too, for it is not pleasant to note rumblings of disaster from afar and to be unable either to warn or to confide.
CHAPTER XIII
About a week later, Rodrigo had a business conference that resulted in an unexpected meeting and a pleasant adventure compensating in some measure for his ill success in thwarting the clever Elise.
He had been conferring in the studio of a mural painter named Washburn, who was doing some highly intricate work for Dorning and Son, when he happened to look at his watch and discovered it was after one o'clock in the afternoon. Neither had had lunch, and Washburn invited Rodrigo to accompany him to a luncheon gathering of the Dutch Treat Club, an organization of the most successful artists, authors and other members of the intelligentsia in New York, at the Hotel Martinique.
The luncheon was already in progress when they entered the crowded room, but they managed to find two vacant chairs at a round table of chattering men.
"Well—it's the Count himself!" came a booming voice from the chair beside Rodrigo and he stared into the welcoming face of Bill Terhune.
They had little opportunity to talk during the luncheon and the program of entertainment that followed, consisting of an ex-heavyweight champion pugilist, who offered racy reminiscences of his famous victory over John L. Sullivan, and a very ebullient Russian soprano. But Washburn left them later, and Rodrigo enjoyed a talk with his friend as they mingled with the crowds on sunshiny Fifth Avenue.
"You look great, Bill," Rodrigo said sincerely.
"Haven't touched a drop since that night with Binner and her friend," Terhune declared solemnly. "You know, that party taught me a lesson. I got home the next night and found my wife had been very seriously ill—an attack of ptomaine or something that blamed near carried her off. And I had lied to her and told her I was detained in town on business. She was feeling rotten when I phoned the lie, but she told me of course to stay. Well, it brought me to my senses, and I took the pledge then and there. You know, a fellow don't know how lucky he is to have a wife like mine till he darned near loses her. I'm the model husband from now on, old boy. Swore off my class reunion at Princeton and everything." Bill looked at his companion, a little abashed at his long, intense confession. He tried to pass it off by saying more lightly, "Say, you ought to meet my wife. Why don't you?"