"Ah," said Duane blandly, "does she agree with you, Dysart?"
"No doubt she does, because your tendencies toward the unconventional have been the subject of unpleasant comment recently."
"By some of your débutante conquests? You mustn't believe all they tell you."
"My own eyes and ears are competent witnesses. Do you understand me now?"
"No. Neither do you. Don't rely on such witnesses, Dysart; they lack character to corroborate them. Ask your wife to confirm me—if you ever find time enough to ask her anything."
"That's a damned impudent thing to say," returned Dysart, staring at him. A dull red stained his face, then faded.
Duane's eyebrows went up—just a shade—yet so insolently that the other stepped forward, the corners of his mouth white and twitching.
"I can speak more plainly," he said. "If you can't appreciate a pleasant hint I can easily accommodate you with the alternative."
There was silence for a moment.
"Dysart," said Duane, "what chance do you think you'd have in landing the—alternative?"