“I'm going to tell you something. I know it's safe with you, and I need some advice. I called on a woman this afternoon. You know who she is. Beverly Carlysle.”
Joe whistled softly.
“That's not the point,” Leslie declaimed, in a truculent voice. “I'm not defending myself. She's a friend; I've got a right to call there if I want to.”
“Sure you have,” soothed Joe.
“Well, you know the situation at home, and who Livingstone actually is. The point is that, while that poor kid at home is sitting around killing herself with grief, Clark's gone back to her. To Beverly Carlysle.”
“How do you know?”
“Know? I saw him this afternoon, at her house.”
He sat still, moodily reviewing the situation. His thoughts were a chaotic and unpleasant mixture of jealousy, fear of Nina, anxiety over Elizabeth, and the sense of a lost romantic adventure. After a while he got up.
“She's a nice kid,” he said. “I'm fond of her. And I don't know what to do.”
Suddenly Joe grinned.