“Do you think it is only that?”
“If it's the house, just remember you gave me carte blanche there.”
He made a little gesture of despair.
“I just thought perhaps you are not as happy as you might be.”
“Happiness again! Did you come up-stairs to-night, with this thing hanging over us, to talk about happiness? That's funny, too.” But her eyes were suddenly suspicious. There was something strange in his voice.
“Let's forget that for a moment. Graham will make his own decision. But, before we leave that, let me tell you that I love him as much as you do. His going means exactly as much. It's only—”
“Another point we differ on,” she finished for him. “Go on. You are suddenly concerned about my happiness. I'm touched, Clay. You have left me all winter to go out alone, or with anybody who might be sorry enough for me to pick me up, and now?” Suddenly her eyes sharpened, and she drew her breath quickly. “You've seen that scandalous thing in the paper!”
“It was sent to me.”
“Who sent it?”
“A firm of private detectives.”