“I was,” said Tom Harbison promptly, from the foot of the bed. “I was prowling all around somewhere about four, searching”—he glanced at me—“for a drink of water. But as I don’t know a pearl from a glass bead, I hope you exonerate me.”
Everybody laughed and said, “Of course,” and “Sure, old man,” and changed the subject quickly.
While that excitement was on, I got Jim to one side and told him about Bella. His good-natured face was radiant at first.
“I suppose she DID come to see Takahiro, eh, Kit?” he asked delicately. “She didn’t say anything about me?”
“Nothing good. She said the house was in a disgraceful condition,” I said heartlessly. “And her diamond bracelet was stolen while she took a nap on the kitchen table”—he groaned—“and—oh, Jim, you are such a goose! If I could only manage my own affairs the way I could my friends’! She’s too sure of you, Jimmy. She knows you adore her, and—how brutal could you be, Jim?”
“Fair,” he said. “I may have undiscovered depths of brutality that I have never had occasion to use. However, I might try. Why?”
“Listen, Jim,” I urged. “It was always Bella who did things here; she managed the house, she tyrannized over her friends, and she bullied you. Yes, she did. Now she’s here, without your invitation, and she has to stay. It’s your turn to bully, to dictate terms, to be coldly civil or politely rude. Make her furious at you. If she is jealous, so much the better.”
“How far would you sacrifice yourself on the altar of friendship?” he asked.
“You may pay me all the attention you like, in public,” I replied, and after we shook hands we went together to Bella.
There was an ominous pause when we went into the den. Bella was sitting by the register, with her furs on, and after one glance over her shoulder at us, she looked away again without speaking.