“Nothing of the sort.”
“Then you must be fairer in your treatment of Joe,” protested his wife. “Joe takes after my family, and instead of inheriting your robust health, has our constitutional delicacy.”
Calhoun-Cooper glanced with some grimness mixed with amusement, at his wife’s large frame and substantial weight. “Too bad the tendency in your family, when it skipped your generation, didn’t crop out in Pauline,” he commented slowly. “I would like a detailed answer to my question, Augusta. Who are Joe’s particular associates?”
“Let me see; Duncan Fordyce and his sister, the Warren girls, Jimmie Painter, and Carroll Logan”—she paused reflectively.
“Ever hear of a Miss Kathryn Allen?” asked her husband.
“Kathryn Allen? Wasn’t she Joe’s nurse at Garfield....”
“So I have heard,” dryly. “I am told the friendship between them has—increased.”
“Is Pauline your informant?” demanded his wife, but he pretended not to hear, and she continued hurriedly, “Whatever you hear in that quarter is exaggerated nonsense. Far from spending his time with women, Joe is usually with Chichester Barnard and his other men friends.”
“I haven’t seen Captain Nichols here lately,” Calhoun-Cooper tore a fragment of a letter into long pieces and tossed them into the scrap basket. “Do you know why he has stopped coming to see us?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” answered his wife candidly. “Unless Pauline has—has not encouraged his attentions.”