"Did Mrs. Wycherly say she is a looker?" asked O'Hara, sceptically.
Westguard shrugged: "You know what to expect when one woman tells you that another woman is good-looking. Probably she has a face that would kill a caterpillar."
Quarren laughed lazily from the bed:
"I hear she's pretty. She's come out of the West. You know, of course, who she was."
"Reggie Leeds's wife," said O'Hara, slowly.
There was a silence. Perhaps the men were thinking of the late Reginald Leeds, and of the deep damnation of his taking off.
"Have you never seen her?" asked Lacy.
"Nobody ever has. She's never before been here," said Quarren, yawning.
"Then come down and set the kettle on, Ricky. She may be the peachiest kind of a peach in a special crate directed to your address and marked 'Perishable! Rush! With care!' So we'll have to be very careful in rushing her——"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake stop that lady-patter," protested O'Hara, linking his arm in Lacy's and sauntering toward the door. "That sort of conversation is Ricky's line of tea-talk. You'll reduce him to a pitiable silence if you take away his only asset."