“I'm not going to marry for the sake of getting married, mother.”
“Of course not. But you have a good bit of money. You'll have much more when I'm gone. And money carries responsibility with it.”
He glanced at her, looked away, rapped a fork on the table cloth.
“It takes two to make a marriage, mother.”
He closed up after that, but she had learned what she wanted.
At three o'clock that afternoon the Sayre limousine stopped in front of Nina's house, and Mrs. Sayre, in brilliant pink and a purple hat, got out. Leslie, lounging in a window, made the announcement.
“Here's the Queen of Sheba,” he said. “I'll go upstairs and have a headache, if you don't mind.”
He kissed Nina and departed hastily. He was feeling extremely gentle toward Nina those days and rather smugly virtuous. He considered that his conscience had brought him back and not a very bad fright, which was the fact, and he fairly exuded righteousness.
It was the great lady's first call, and Nina was considerably uplifted. It was for such moments as this one trained servants and put Irish lace on their aprons, and had decorators who stood off with their heads a little awry and devised backgrounds for one's personality.
“What a delightful room!” said Mrs. Sayre. “And how do you keep a maid as trim as that?”