“And what is on that boy’s mind? There’s something on it.”
“His business, let us hope–––”
She shook her head: “I know my son,” she remarked.
“So do I. What is particularly troubling you, dear? There’s something you haven’t told me.”
“I’m merely wondering who that girl was who lunched 90 with him at Delmonico’s––three times––last week,” mused his wife.
“Why––she’s probably all right, Helen. A man doesn’t take the other sort there.”
“So I’ve heard,” she said drily.
“Well, then?”
“Nothing.... She’s very pretty, I understand.... And wears mourning.”
“What of it?” he asked, amused. She smiled at him, but there was a trace of annoyance in her voice.