“You ought to be ashamed, Jim,” she said. “You're simply worrying mother sick.”
“Well, why?” he demanded defiantly. “I'm old enough to take care of myself.”
“You ought to be taking care of her, too.”
He had looked rather crestfallen at that, and before he went out he offered a half-sheepish explanation.
“I'd tell them where I go,” he said, “but you'd think a pool room was on the direct road to hell. Take to-night, now. I can't tell them about it, but it was all right. I met Wallie Sayre and Leslie at the club before dinner, and we got a fourth and played bridge. Only half a cent a point. I swear we were going on playing, but somebody brought in a chap named Gregory for a cocktail. He turned out to be a brother of Beverly Carlysle, the actress, and he took us around to the theater and gave us a box. Not a thing wrong with it, was there?”
“Where did you go from there?” she persisted inexorably. “It's half past one.”
“Went around and met her. She's wonderful, Elizabeth. But do you know what would happen if I told them? They'd have a fit.”
She felt rather helpless, because she knew he was right from his own standpoint.
“I know. I'm surprised at Les, Jim.”
“Oh, Les! He just trailed along. He's all right.”