“Sorry? Why should you be? Some men are born to settle down and raise children and others are born to drink and philander. It's as simple as that.”
“Is it?” something made Philip ask. “Into which category would you say I fall?”
“You're in a class by yourself.” Tiny silver flecks had come into her eyes, and he realized to his astonishment that they were flecks of malevolence. “You've never married, but playing the field hasn't made you one hundred per cent cynical. You're still convinced that somewhere there is a woman worthy of your devotion. And you're quite right—the world is full of them.”
His face tingled as though she had slapped it, and in a sense, she had. He restrained his anger with difficulty. “I didn't know that my celibacy was that noticeable,” he said.
“It isn't. I took the liberty of having a private investigator check into your background. It proved to be unsavory in some respects, as I implied before, but unlike the backgrounds of the other real-estate agents I had checked, it contained not the slightest hint of dishonesty. The nature of my business is such that I need someone of maximum integrity to contract it with. I had to go far and wide to find you.”
“You're being unfair,” Philip said, mollified despite himself. “Most real-estate agents are honest. As a matter of fact, there's one in the same office building with me that I'd trust with the family jewels—if I had any family jewels.”
“Good,” Judith Darrow said. “I gambled on you knowing someone like that.”
He waited for her to elaborate, and when she did not he finished his coffee and stood up. “If you don't mind, I'll turn in,” he said. “I've had a pretty hard day.”
“I'll show you your room.”
She got two candles, lit them, and after placing them in gilt candlesticks, handed one of the candlesticks to him. The room was on the third floor in under the eaves—as faraway from hers, probably, as the size of the house permitted. Philip did not mind. He liked to sleep in rooms under eaves. There was an enchantment about the rain on the roof that people who slept in less celestial bowers never got to know. After Judith left, he threw open the single window and undressed and climbed into bed. Remembering the rose, he got it out of his coat pocket and examined it by candlelight. It was green all right—even greener than he had at first thought. Its scent was reminiscent of the summer breeze that was blowing through the downstairs rooms, though not at all in keeping with the chill October air that was coming through his bedroom window. He laid it on the table beside the bed and blew out the candle. He would go looking for the bush tomorrow.